


My name on your lips

by rosexwald



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin - Fandom, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Brothels, Bruises, Canon Universe, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Idiots in Love, Jaskier being cute, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Love Confessions, Love at First Sight, M/M, NSFW, Oral Sex, Prostitution, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff, Sappy, Sex, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:54:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 41,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25131973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosexwald/pseuds/rosexwald
Summary: Geralt saves a wealthy fabric merchant from some monsters and bandits, and to show his gratitude the merchant takes him to a high-quality brothel in Novigrad, and promises to pay for all his entertainments that night. It turns out that the brothel offers both female and male prositutes. Though Geralt at first doesn't seem interested in the latter, his curiosity grows as he meets the local star - Jaskier.So in this AU everything is pretty much the same, except Jaskier is a luxurious male prostitute. Because why not?Jaskier is just so pretty, I wanted to write him covered in gold glitter. So sue me.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 141
Kudos: 489





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So in this AU everything is pretty much the same, except Jaskier is a luxurious male prostitute. Because why not?  
> Jaskier is just so pretty, I wanted to write him covered in gold glitter. So sue me.  
> This will definitely have more chapters published soon ;)

“What is this place?” Geralt raised his eyebrow, his face twisting in sceptical grimace. It definitely wasn’t his first time visiting Novigrad, but he has never been in this particular place. Which was odd because he knew most taverns, inns, and brothels around here.

The Witcher stood in front of a three-story building that, granted, looked very welcoming. Surrounded by cold and darkness of a late autumn evening, the building was well lit, colourful lanterns hanging outside above the entrance, and warm golden light seeping through the windows. Muffled sounds of music and laughter could be heard coming from inside. Two gentlemen just walked out, clearly drunk and giddy, and before the door could close behind them, the smell of food and wine tickled Geralt’s nostrils. 

“You don’t know? I can’t believe you’ve never been here!” the merchant who accompanied Geralt exclaimed. He was clearly excited, and also a little bit pleased and proud, that he was able to show the Witcher a brand new place. 

“No. I’ve been in Novigrad quite a few times, but never in this particular tavern. It looks crowded…” Geralt hummed. The place really seemed very loud and cheerful, so he hesitated. He would much rather sit in a small, quiet inn, have a plate of solid meal, a pitcher of ale, and be unbothered by anyone. But the merchant seemed very keen on taking him to ‘the best place in Novigrad’ as a form of payment for his services. 

Geralt met the merchant a week ago, on the road from Downwarren to Novigrad. The merchant had five wagons of finest lace and silk manufactured in Downwarren, and planned on selling it for a small fortune in Novigrad. Keen on keeping the deadline for the transport, the merchant tried to take a shortcut, and abandoned the main road, riding through a forest instead. Unfortunately, he stumbled upon a nest of Nekkers. Fortunately, Geralt stumbled upon it too. 

He saved the merchant, and his cargo, and since then they travelled together, because it so happened that Novigrad was also Geralt's destination. Geralt protected the merchant from bandits, wolves, ghouls, and other dangers lurking along the way. And the merchant was so grateful that his precious cargo was safe and sound, that he not only paid Geralt a fair price for his services, but also insisted on paying for his food, drinks, and ‘entertainments’ at the ‘best place in Novigrad’. And so here they were.

“Please Master Geralt, you won’t regret it. Just let me do this for you. If it wasn’t for you, I would’ve undoubtedly lost all of my priceless cargo, and even my life! But thanks to your help I was able to sell all of the lace and silk, and if I can share some of my coin with you, as a token of my appreciation, I beg you do not refuse.” the merchant tried to convince him eagerly. 

And truth be told, Geralt began leaning towards the idea. It wasn’t often that he had an opportunity to dine and sleep in such luxurious place. He imagined the food there would be delicious, alcohol good quality, and beds soft and warm. He could even count on hot bath. Why toss away such chance for experiencing a bit of luxury? Just because the place was a little crowded? Even Geralt wasn’t that much of an introvert. 

“Fine then. That is very generous of you, and I shall gladly accept.” the Witcher agreed. And clearly this made the merchant happy, because he clapped his hands excitedly. 

“Excellent! Let’s go inside then! Everything is on me tonight, I will tell the bartender not to charge you a single Crown!”

  
  


As they walked through the door, Gerlat glanced up at the signboard above the entrance. _Flowers of Four Kingdoms._ Curious name. But once they entered, Geralt understood what it meant. It wasn’t just a common tavern, it was a brothel. And not a common brothel either, a high quality one. Such that the Witcher could have never afforded. That was exactly why he has never heard of this place before - because it was _way_ above his price range. 

First thing that Geralt noticed was that the place was clearly owned by an elf. There was an elf behind the bar, serving the guests, and the interior was decorated in elven aesthetic - finely carved wood, expensive fabrics, flowers, marble sculptures. Everything seemed delicate and precious. Geralt suddenly felt self-conscious, he felt that he didn’t fit in here. He looked down at his muddy shoes, so out of place on the thick, colourful carpet that was spread on the floor. He hasn’t bathed for a while, so he suspected he neither looks nor smells as good as other guests gathered here. He was sure they will throw him out. 

But then, through the loud music, he heard someone calling out the merchant’s name. Geralt looked over and noticed that it was the bartender, gesturing for them to come closer. The Witcher followed after his companion. Right, it seemed that the merchant was known here… not only frequent guest and client, but looking at the interior Geralt could guess that he probably sold them most of the fabrics and laces used for the decoration. 

“Frederick!” the elven bartender greeted the merchant. “It’s been so long, old friend. I’m so glad to host you again. What is your poison today, ale or wine? We do have your favourite brand, I’m always keeping a barrel in the back waiting for you.”

As the two of them greeted each other, it took the bartender a longer moment to notice Geralt. “Ah, and who is this? Is he with you, Frederick…?”

“Yes, yes, indeed! This is Master Geralt of Rivia, a Witcher!” the merchant, named Frederick, introduced him eagerly. He then began explaining the whole story, about Geralt saving him and escorting him all the way to Novigrad. He concluded in such words: “I do not know a better way of showing gratitude and appreciation other than inviting this noble and brave Witcher to your fine premises. Please, let him dine tonight, let him have fun, and after that a good sleep under your roof. I will pay for everything. He shall be my guest.” 

The elven bartender was perhaps a little sceptical at first, but after hearing the merchant’s story, and more importantly, after being reassured that the Witcher’s expenses will be fully covered, he graced Geralt with a bright smile. “Of course. Frederick’s friends are my friends. Be my guest tonight, oh noble Geralt of Rivia. One of the girls will show you to a nice, secluded table. You look tired after the long journey.”

“Geralt, once again I thank you for your help.” Frederick patted the Witcher’s shoulder. “I see some friends over there, so I will join them, if you allow. I fear that I took too much of your time and patience anyway.” the merchant laughed, gesturing to the group of people sitting at one of the tables. “I will leave you to rest and feast. And don’t worry about anything.” he suggestively touched the coin-filled purse that he had attached to his belt, making the coins inside jiggle. 

Once Frederick left to join his friends, the bartender gestured at one of the girls, who was clearly not only a waitress in this place. She was human, not an elf, but was definitely one of the most beautiful women Geralt has ever seen. She was clean, looked healthy, had a lovely smile and smelled of expensive perfume. Her clothes were revealing, but still somehow tasteful. Geralt wasn’t sure how it was possible. The dress she wore was exposing a lot, and yet not enough. It was still leaving much to the imagination, only making this whole ordeal more appealing. As if there were secrets to be uncovered. It was definitely building some excitement and anticipation. She had cute freckles and auburn hair, and Geralt noticed that she was walking in a very graceful manner, almost as if she wasn’t born among commonfolk. The bits of her exposed skin - on her neck, collar bones, between her breasts, her shoulders, her thighs - were covered in a sparkly, glittery powder. It flickered in red and pink reflections as she moved. 

As she escorted him to one of the empty tables in the corner, very private and partially obscured from the view (much to Geralt’s content), the Witcher looked around curiously. Now, he took more notice of what sort of place this was. It was indeed high-quality brothel, a very expensive and tasteful place. Geralt didn’t even know brothels like that existed, it was almost… sophisticated. He looked at the other guests around him, and realized that everyone was behaving in the best manner. Sure, people were talking loudly, laughing, drinking, but there were no vulgar words, no groping the waitresses, no fights or obscenities. Food on the tables looked so good that Geralt felt his mouth watering. And the girls were not only entertaining the guests in the bedrooms, but there was also a small stage where some of them danced, singed, and played instruments. It was the most curious place. 

Geralt sat down at the table, and the auburn-haired girl handed him a piece of parchment, with all the meals and alcohols listed neatly, along with prices. It was definitely not a cheap place… not at all. Geralt cleared his throat, wondering if he really could order something here… but the merchant offered, and surely he knew how expensive everything was here. It was clearly not his first time coming here so… he must have been aware. With that thought in mind, Geralt decided to order.

“Um… I will take two steaks, baked potatoes, and a bowl of stew. And two pitchers of ale.” the Witcher decided.

The girl nodded politely. “Certainly.” she replied in a soft, pleasant voice. “Kind sir should also look around and choose company for tonight.” she added playfully. “Whoever shall entice you the most, you shall ask their name, and then just tell your choice to the bartender. He will take care of the rest.” she explained. “My name is Aylee.”

With that, she winked at the Witcher sweetly, and walked off to tell the cook what meal Geralt ordered. He was left at his table, stunned. Everyone here acted as if this wasn’t just a place where you pay for sex. Somehow… it seemed more. Just like Aylee said, it was a place where you could buy ‘company’. Whatever this meant. But Geralt decided that he will find out. 

As he sat there, waiting for his food and drinks, he observed everything around him. The feeling that something was off with this place was gnawing at the back of his mind. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Everyone was perfectly polite to him so far. Maybe that was the case? The Witcher rather seldom was treated with kindness. But no... that was certainly a little odd, but it could be easily explained - coin. Since the owner was sure that Geralt’s bill will be fully covered, he had no reason not to treat him with his best service.

So what was it…? Why this place had such strange vibe? 

And then, all of a sudden, Geralt saw it. The waiters, the performers, the dancers and singers… not all of them were women. His eyes widened as he realized it, and he couldn’t believe that he was just noticing it now. Two tables over, one of the clients was telling dirty jokes, drinking and laughing, and on his lap, giggling and flirting was sitting a blond-haired elven boy. One of the waiters, a handsome, well-toned lad, brought over two more bottles of wine to the table, and got playfully pinched in the buttocks by one of the male guests. He didn’t seem to mind, he swatted the pinching hand away with pretended modesty, but his lips curled up in a smile. 

So this was… _that kind_ of place. Geralt only heard rumors about it, but never really believed it to be true. A brothel where people of all kinds and preferences could find company for themselves. The Witcher got almost flustered. Not that the concept was completely foreign to him, but up until now he was largely ignoring its existence. He was going to brothels that only had female service, and that was what he was familiar with. Male prostitutes was something he was aware of, but never encountered himself. Here, in _Flowers of Four Kingdoms_ , it seemed that everyone could, without being judged, freely enjoy whatever the hell they pleased. Refreshing, true, but also slightly awkward for the Witcher. 

Aylee came back, carrying a tray full of food, and placed the meal before him. Geralt quickly forgot all about feeling flustered. Right, he doesn’t have to think about it too much. He will just eat, drink, listen to music… then he will take a bath and pick a girl for the night. Just like usual, just like in any other ordinary brothel. Just because it was the kind of place where he had more… _variety_ of a choice, didn’t mean that he has to explore it. No, he will just… do everything as usual. Nothing to be nervous about. 

Geralt began to eat and drink, and it was truly a magnificent distraction. The food, as he suspected, was absolutely delicious. The meat was tender and juicy, the stew dense, full of fresh vegetables, and perfectly seasoned. The ale was just enough mix between bitter and rich. The Witcher suspected that it was imported from Toussaint, judging not only by the taste, but also the price. 

His stomach was soon pleasantly full, his cheeks warmed up, and his head wonderfully light from the ale and the heavily sweet scent of perfume that lingered in the air. As he ate, Geralt would glance around every now and then, observing the women that mingled around the tables. It would not be an easy task to choose one of them, as each and every one was beautiful, graceful, with skin dusted with this almost hypnotic sparkling powder. As he tried to decide which one to pick, his thoughts were interrupted by the loud, cheerful voice of the bartender and owner, who hopped up on the stage and clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention. 

The music stopped, and so did the conversations and laughter among the gathered guests. Everyone looked up at the stage, shifting in their seats. It was clear they knew what was going to happen, and whatever it was, it was highly anticipated by everyone. Geralt perked up as well, curious.

“Dear guests! I believe it is time for what you all have been waiting for.” the elf owner built the suspense. “By popular demand, let your ears and eyes be graced with marvellous performance. Feast your senses, and be generous with your tips.” he added, causing everyone to burst in laughter.

But then, as the owner raised his hand, everyone got perfectly quiet again. No one dared to let out even a tiniest sound. Geralt found himself gazing up on the stage with the same intensity. He had no idea what to expect. 

“Please welcome with applause, the one, the only, _Jaskier_!”

And the applause roared through the building like a thunder. Geralt got almost startled. There was cheering, shouting, whistling, and loud, neverending applause. 

The man announced as Jaskier walked up on the stage with wide, charming smile, so beautiful that it literally made the room brighter. The guests sitting around the tables went crazy, no matter if they currently had women or men perched on their laps. The whole crowd seemed to adore Jaskier. 

Geralt scanned him from head to toe, as if he was a peculiar creature that the Witcher has only heard legends of, but was only now seeing for the first time with his own eyes. Jaskier had light brown hair, combed adorably to the side in a slightly messy, boyish fringe. His eyes were reflecting the smile that played on his lips, he seemed genuinely happy and grateful for how warm the crowd welcomed him. He was wearing light yellow tunic, so delicate it was _almost_ see through. On his head, he had a crown made of yellow flowers, buttercups and dandelions. His skin was dusted with the same glittery powder, and it made him look as if there were gold sparks dancing in the curves and nooks of his lightly toned body. Jaskier was lean, but not skinny, his body was firm and healthy. 

In one hand he was holding a lute, and he raised his other hand to wave happily at everyone, and send them air-kisses. The crowd cheered loudly, chanting Jaskier’s name. Until Jaskier lifted his lute, and lightly touched the strings with his dainty fingers. Then everyone went silent once again. Jaskier’s fingers moved fast, with effortless grace, as he began playing a melody. Geralt immediately noted that he was definitely very talented. His music was captivating, the ballad he was playing was easy on the ears. And then, he began singing.

It took Geralt a longer moment to realize that he was staring at Jaskier with his mouth hanging open. The Witcher has never heard anyone sing so beautifully. Jaskier’s voice was so melodic, so sweet and smooth, like thick liquid honey. Geralt heard Sirens’ sing not once and not twice in his life, but he has never been so enchanted by their voices as he was by Jaskier’s in that moment. 

The ballad he was singing was not an upbeat, rouchy piece that one would expect to hear performed in a brothel. It wasn’t meant to simply entertain masses. It was tender, soft, yet clever and sweet, and Jaskier seemed to sing it straight from the bottom of his heart. Geralt noticed some of the guests tearing up even. 

_If you wish, my love, at my side to repose..._

_My heart would inquire of your hands pale and fine, if they'd grasp it gently, to hold like a rose..._

_Or grasp me elsewhere and leave me satisfied?_

Jaskier ended his ballad on a lighter note, allowing his audience to wipe their tears and replace them with smiles and chuckles. The moment he played a final note on his lute, the crowd immediately once again erupted with loud applause. Some men even tossed flowers up on the stage, as Jaskier was taking bows and sending sweet smiles left and right. 

It was only once he gracefully hopped off the stage and started to mingle among the guests, greeting the regulars, and charmingly introducing himself to those that were new, that Geralt realized he was still staring. He quickly closed his mouth and looked away, focusing on his cup of ale. He took a few long sips to distract himself.

When Geralt placed his cup back on the table and looked up once again, Jaskier was standing right in front of him, observing the Witcher just as intensely as he was observed by him before.

“I’ve never seen you here before.” Jaskier spoke, offering Geralt a sincere smile. “But I know who you are. Your eyes… you’re a Witcher, right?” the bard pointed out. He leaned over the table to take a closer look at Geralt’s cat-like eyes, and the gold glitter covering his skin sparkled right in front of Geralt’s stunned face.

“Yes. I am.” he replied dryly, voice low and quiet. He didn’t know what to expect next, but he definitely wasn’t expecting anything good. It will either be fear, disgust, or being looked down on. By a male prostitute.

“That is fantastic!” Jaskier said instead, and quickly wiggled himself into an empty chair next to Geralt. His face was radiating sheer excitement. “I’ve heard _so much_ about Witchers, but I’ve never met one. I don’t know how much money Witchers make killing werewolves, basilisks or drowners, but clearly not enough to come visit _Flowers of Four Kingdoms_. I think you’re the first one that we are hosting!” 

“Hmm.” Geralt only hummed, acknowledging Jaskier’s words. 

But the bard did not seem taken aback by the Witcher’s attitude. On the contrary, he scooted closer, and carried on with the one-sided conversation. 

“So how did you like my performance? Did you enjoy the song?” he asked, propping both elbows against the table and gazing at Geralt as if he was some kind of marvel. 

“... It was nice.” Geralt replied after a pause.

Jaskier smiled so brightly as if he just received the best compliment in his life. He let out a chuckle, and nudged Geralt playfully with his foot under the table. “Nah, you’re just saying that to be polite. I know you would probably prefer to hear a ballad about some heroic adventures or epic fights. That would be far more interesting for you, eh?” 

Once again, Geralt hesitated with his answer. He wasn’t sure how to behave while Jaskier was leaning so closely, invading his personal space. “...No. The song was fine. The end was… funny. I liked it.” the Witcher murmured eventually.

Jaskier was beaming happily. He reached over and placed his palm gently atop Geralt’s own. Geralt looked down at their hands, but didn’t even twitch. 

Jaskier’s soft, delicate finger idly caressed over Geralt’s dirty, calloused palm. “I will be singing again, later tonight. If you want, I could dedicate the next song to you.” the bard whispered, gazing at the Witcher through the curtain of dark lashes.

Geralt made a move to pull his hand away, but Jaskier managed to grab it first. He scooted even closer, and took Geralt’s much larger palm into both of his hands, looking at it intensely as if it was the most precious thing. Geralt’s hand was dirty, skin on his knuckles scraped, covered with dried blood. But Jaskier ran his fingertips over all those imperfections with such tender affection. “You kill monsters with those hands… that is so fascinating.” the bard sighed dreamily.

He then looked up at the Witcher, and grinned. “And you could use a bath.” he teased. 

Geralt really got flustered then, and pulled his hand away forcefully, hiding it under the table.

“Don’t worry. I could take you upstairs and draw you a bath…” Jaskier purred. “You know the rules. All you need to do is tell my name to the bartender. That’s how he will know that you chose me for tonight.” he reminded. “You know my name, don’t you, Witcher?”

Geralt swallowed thickly, and nodded. “Your name is Jaskier.” 

“But I don’t know yours.” Jaskier pouted cutely.

“I’m Geralt. Geralt of Rivia.” he replied, drowning in Jaskier’s intense gaze. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Geralt of Rivia.” the way Jaskier said his name was enough to drive a man crazy. “I’m going on stage to sing again now… you have time until the end of this song to decide if you want to tell bartender my name. I hope you will.” the bard stood up slowly, and held Geralt’s gaze for a very long moment, before turning on his heel and walking off towards the stage. Cheering and whistling of the crowd accompanied him as he gracefully hopped up on the stage and grabbed his lute. He sent Geralt one more suggestive look and a tiny smirk, and then his fingers hit the strings of the lute, and another song filled the room. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys, thank you so much for such positive feedback on chapter 1 :D  
> i was so excited to give you the continuation that i was literally typing with a speed of light.  
> enjoy chapter 2 <3

Geralt finished his ale in just a few long sips, drinking so greedily that he almost choked. _Obviously_ he wasn’t going to pick Jaskier’s name. Men never interested him in such way. So that was just… a ridiculous idea.

So why he couldn’t stop thinking about it?

Aylee was beautiful, and had all the attributes that were generally believed to be attractive. And yet, Geralt didn’t feel desire towards her. If he picked her, or any of the other girls around here, it would be like choosing between scrambled and poached eggs for breakfast - both excellent choices, but it’s just something that you already ate a hundred times before. And perhaps you have an appetite for something else entirely…

No. Of course not. 

He should go with a familiar, safe choice. It will be a perfectly pleasant and comfortable option.

Perfectly boring and predictable too. 

Geralt ran his hand over his face, and then up through his matted hair. He could hardly believe that he was really considering it. Up until now he has never thought that he could find that appealing. And yet, there he was, not able to tear his gaze away from Jaskier who was absolutely radiant and blooming on stage.

Playing his lute, he was singing with this sweet, enchanting voice, that was causing shivers to run down Geralt’s spine.

_A tale, as old as the world itself_

_About love, as unfair as a crook_

_It steals all my reason_

_Commits every treason_

_Of logic, with naught but a look_

_A storm breaking on the horizon_

_Of longing and heartache and lust_

_He's always bad news_

_It's always lose, lose_

_So tell me love, tell me love_

_How is that just?_

Jaskier sent Geralt a longing gaze from the stage, basically begging with his eyes. The ballad he was singing, about destructive love that leaves you a dumbstruck fool, seemed fitting. Jaskier was just so stupidly enamored with the Witcher, from the second he laid eyes on him. Geralt was tall and broad, and even through the thick leather jacket Jaskier could clearly see how muscular he was. He was exactly Jaskier’s type - not a big talker, but definitely big in all the other right places. And this disarming mysterious vibe he had about himself… oh Great Melitele, Jaskier has never wanted to be picked by a customer so badly. This would so go on his list of great people he got to fuck… among knights, mages, counts and earls, princes and even kings, Jaskier could add a Witcher…

He made sure Geralt got a good view as he danced around on the stage, swaying his hips seductively. Batting his long eyelashes, Jaskier flirted with a customer that was sitting at the nearest table, singing towards him sweetly, voice deep and smooth. He wanted Geralt to feel a little jealous, he wanted to fire up his competitive instinct. Make him see that everyone here craved him.

_But the story is this_

_He'll destroy with his sweet kiss_

_His sweet kiss_

_But the story is this_

_He’ll destroy with his sweet kiss…_

Geralt abruptly stood up from his seat, and walked towards the bar. Jaskier nearly missed a note, and barely managed to stop his voice from cracking. Was the Witcher going to leave? Just like that…? No, he was heading towards the bar. So he made his choice? Jaskier could barely contain his curiosity, but he had a song to finish. He took a deep breath, smiling in a carefree manner towards the audience. Everyone here adored him, and yet, in this moment Jaskier would easily trade this entire room full of his fans in exchange for the Witcher’s attention. 

_His current is pulling me closer_

_And charging the hot, humid night_

_The red sky at dawn is giving a warning, you fool_

_Better stay out of sight_

_I'm weak my love, and I am wanting_

_If this is the path I must trudge_

_I welcome my sentence_

_Give to you my penance_

_Garrotter, jury and judge_

Geralt cleared his throat to get the bartender’s attention. The elf turned towards him, and grinned, looking down at the empty pitcher that Geralt brought over. “More ale?” the elf asked. The Witcher nodded silently.

As the bartender was refilling his pitcher, Geralt somewhat nervously shifted his weight from leg to leg. It seemed that Jaskier’s song was coming to an end. And he said that Geralt only had time until the end of this one song to decide. Otherwise, he was sure, someone else will pick Jaskier for the night, and this chance will be lost forever. There wasn’t a single man in this room who wasn’t devouring the cheeky bard with their eyes.

_But the story is this_

_He'll destroy with his sweet kiss_

_His sweet kiss, oo-ooh_

_The story is this_

_He'll destroy with his sweet kiss… oo-ooh..._

Damn it.

“I want to tell you the name.” Geralt muttered to the bartender, glancing away, as if casually. His face was burning hot.

“Oh? So you picked one of my _flowers_ for the night?” the elven bartender smirked, placing the full pitcher of ale on the counter in front of Geralt. “Excellent. So who will it be?”

“Jaskier…” Geralt's voice drowned in the loudly sang chorus, in which Jaskier was clearly showing off his great musical talent and clear, resonant voice.

_But the story is this_

_He'll destroy with his sweet kiss_

_His sweet kiss, oo-ooh_

_But the story is this_

_He'll destroy with his sweet kiss… oo-ooh..._

“Come again?” the bartender, leaned in closer to hear Geralt’s quietly uttered words. But the Witcher suspected that the elf heard him perfectly fine for the first time. Most probably he just wanted to make sure that he wasn’t mistaken, given Geralt’s bold request. Jaskier seemed to be a star around here, and the most desired company. Probably the most expensive, as well. 

“It’s Jaskier.” Geralt repeated, looking bartender in the eyes this time.

_The story is this_

_He’ll destroy with his sweet kiss...!_

The last verse of the song resonated in Geralt’s ears, Jaskier’s voice, so vibrant and clear. The moment he finished singing, he received roaring applause, even louder than before. Bowing happily, the bard kept glancing towards the bar, dreading the outcome of the conversation going on between Geralt and the elf. If he will see the bartender beacon at one of the girls instead of him he will throw a tantrum…

The bartender raised his brow, and smirked at Geralt. “You have an expensive taste.” he hummed. “But I’m sure there is no price too high for saving a man’s life.” the elf added, glancing towards merchant Frederick who was having the time of his life, drinking with his friends. “Besides, I saw that Jaskier came over to talk to you earlier. So whether you like it or not, _he_ had already chosen _you._ ” 

Once Jaskier bowed for the last time, holding his flower crown with one hand to protect it from falling off his head, he looked up and saw the elf gesturing towards him. His heart skipped a beat. He walked off the stage, legs feeling like jelly. Even if he tried a little bit to hide just how excited he was, he failed. It was clear that Jaskier was pleased. He walked over to the bar, gazing at the Witcher, and discovered, to his absolute delight, that Geralt’s face was a little bit flushed. 

“Jaskier, my favourite golden flower…” the bartender began, and allowed himself to reach over and fix Jaskier’s flower crown a little. “Master Witcher picked you for tonight.” 

“Oh did he…?” Jaskier purred, feigning innocence. “I’m flattered.” he placed a gentle hand over Geralt’s muscular arm, leaning closer. 

“Alright now, enough teasing, you show off.” the bartender scolded playfully. “Do I have to teach you good manners? Why don’t you go upstairs and prepare a nice hot bath for Master Geralt. He has a very long and dangerous journey behind him.”

“Right away.” Jaskier nodded with a smirk, and quickly rushed towards the stairs leading to the upper floors. He was so giddy and thrilled that there was a skip in his step. He made a show of walking up the stairs too, swaying his hips, and caressing the railing with his hand in a very suggestive way. 

Both the bartender and Geralt were only able to look away once Jaskier disappeared upstairs. The elf cleared his throat, and gestured towards Geralt’s table in the corner of the room. “Why don’t you go sit down and finish your ale? Jaskier will come fetch you once he’s ready. It shouldn’t be long.”

And Geralt did just that. Grabbing his pitcher of ale he returned to his table, and sat down heavily. He couldn’t explained anything of what just happened. He definitely wasn’t drunk yet… he didn’t remember getting hit in the head recently either. So… why in the world did he just order the most expensive male whore in the entire Novigrad? 

As he sat there and drank his ale, Geralt even briefly considered just running away. He could literally just get up and leave now… 

Well, he abandoned these doubts the moment Jaskier came back downstairs sometime later. 

He walked down the stairs slowly, barefoot. Graceful like a doe, effortlessly tempting. He was still wearing the same sheer yellow tunic, but it was obvious that he generously reapplied the gold sparkling powder onto the exposed bits of his skin. The crown of yellow buttercups and dandelions looked like a radiant halo around his head. As he approached Geralt, the aroma of his perfume tickled the Witcher’s nose. 

Without a word, Jaskier reached over and took Geralt’s hand. The Witcher’s big, calloused hand, covered in dried mud and blood felt rough in Jaskier’s own, delicate and soft palm. But the bard held it gently, and without even cringing at all. This surprised Geralt. 

He stood up, as if led by some magical force, because Jaskier’s touch was so tender that he was barely even pulling at his hand. Geralt just followed instinctively. They still didn’t say a single word. But as they walked through the room together, the big, scary Witcher almost blindly stumbling along, they were being silently observed by all the other guests. Everyone in the room wished they were Geralt in that moment, envy was almost palpable in the air. But Jaskier, for once, didn’t even notice the hungry eyes on him. Usually he loved basking in attention, but tonight…

Tonight he only had eyes for Geralt. 

They headed upstairs, to the second floor. Jaskier’s room was not only on the top floor, but also at the very end of the hallway, so once they got there, it got awfully quiet all of a sudden. Geralt couldn’t hear any voices or music from downstairs anymore. It felt very private, but even so, Geralt still felt somehow tense and unsure. 

Jaskier let him in, and closed the door behind them. The room was not very spacious, but it was definitely very cozy. There were several decorative carpets on the floor, soft pillows and blankets thrown over large, wooden canopy bed. Heavy curtains hanging in the windows shielded them from the cold, rainy night. Candles flickered with warm, soft light, creating dancing shadows on the walls. 

Geralt looked around, feeling out of place again. Before he could say anything, Jaskier tugged at his hand and gestured towards round bathtub. Steam floating above it indicated nicely hot water, and Geralt suddenly felt all the exhaustion from the road wash over him. His body felt heavy, and all he could think of was getting into that water, and letting all the tension and aching of his muscles melt away. 

“Hmm…” he murmured in approval.

Jaskier smiled, finding the reaction rather funny, and he stepped in front of the Witcher, looking up at him. His fingers twitched eagerly, in anticipation. “Just as I thought, you could really use a bath, hm?” the bard smirked, hands slowly raising to rest gently against Geralt’s chest. 

He tip-toed a little bit to be able to look Geralt right in the eyes. “Why don’t you relax? You’re clenching your jaw so hard that I wouldn’t be surprised if your teeth cracked. Just let me take care of this…”

Jaskier’s dexterous fingers touched the metal buckle of a leather strap that ran across Geralt’s chest, holding the swords on his back. He started unfastening it slowly, and Geralt just stood there as if he was turned to stone. The Witcher tried telling himself that it’s the same as with women, that he should just do exactly the same thing as usual… but instead he was making this weird, just standing there, paralyzed. 

Well, at least Jaskier genuinely didn’t seem to mind. He got himself busy with admiring Geralt’s broad, muscular posture as he slowly, layer by layer, undressed the quiet Witcher.

First, the leather strap that held Geralt’s swords. Once Jaskier unbuckled it, he got a little startled with how heavy the weapons were. He stumbled a little, letting out a small gasp, but managed not to drop them. “That is some weight to be carrying around on your back all day.” Jaskier commented, lifting the swords with some effort, and very carefully setting them aside on a dresser. He knew they were precious, and he treated them as such. 

Proceeding, Jaskier removed the pieces of armor covering Geralt’s shoulders and chest, his jacket, leather belt, and gloves. Every piece of armor or clothing was gently put aside, until Geralt stood in front of the bard just in a worn-out shirt that used to be white, his trousers and boots. Now, Jaskier could admire the Witcher even more, noticing thick hair covering his broad chest, he couldn’t stop himself but to touch. Slowly, he unbuttoned the shirt, sliding it off Geralt’s shoulders, and letting it fall in a heap on the floor. 

He stood dangerously close to the Witcher, so close that Geralt could feel his warm breath ghosting over the skin of his neck. Jaskier’s hand travelled down along Geralt’s chest and hard stomach, feeling over the scars along rises and falls of muscles. The bard swallowed thickly, almost losing his composure. 

Goosebumps bloomed over Geralt’s skin. Seeing it, Jaskier let out a soft, breathy chuckle. “Right… I am taking my time here, but you need a nice hot bath. Sorry, let me just do this real quick.” he promised and tugged at the front of Geralt’s trousers, popping them open. Upon looking down, Geralt discovered, to his surprise, that Jaskier didn’t even rip off a single button. 

Jaskier lowered himself down to his knees, and one by one unfastened metal buckles along the sides of the Witcher’s boots. He held the boots in place as Geralt stepped out of them. Then he pulled his trousers down, and Geralt kicked those off as well. 

If he wanted to take this bath, he would have to remove the undergarments as well. Jaskier clearly couldn’t wait, devouring Geralt with his gaze. Geralt, on the other hand, felt oddly sheepish. _Fuck_ , why was he being so nervous? He acted like a prudish girl just coming of age. 

His own behaviour annoyed Geralt to the point where he just wanted to prove (to whom?) that he wasn’t flustered. Without a second thought, he removed his underwear in one swift movement. Now it was Jaskier who was left speechless. 

_That_ was definitely more than he had hoped for. 

Geralt moved from his spot, and walked over to the bathtub. Jaskier got a good, long look over his firm backside.

Swinging one leg over the edge Geralt stepped in. Sighing contently, he sat down in the tub, submerging in the wonderfully hot water. His muscles relaxed instantly. He closed his eyes for a moment, and let out a low hum.

Jaskier felt a shiver running down his spine. 

He walked over to the tub, grabbed a bar of soap and a cloth, and approached the Witcher from behind. Geralt had his guard down, and got a little startled when he suddenly felt Jaskier’s warm lips against the back of his neck. His head twitched in an attempt to look over his shoulder, but then Jaskier’s soapy hands slipped from his back slowly towards his collarbones, and down his chest. He felt the bard’s breath tickling his ear. He could smell his perfume. Sweet and heavy, mixing with the scent of the flowers he wore on his head. 

Surprised, Geralt realized that he wasn’t tense or nervous anymore, despite Jaskier’s hands so freely touching over his body. But it felt… good. Jaskier’s touch was skilled, tender but firm against his knotted muscles. Geralt leaned back against the tub, resting his elbows over the edges. Jaskier took this new pose as a sign that Geralt felt comfortable, and as an invitation to speak again. The atmosphere felt lighter. 

“You have so many scars…” Jaskier pointed out the obvious. Before, when he was undressing the Witcher, he stood so close that he didn’t get a proper look. But now his eyes curiously scanned every inch of Geralt’s skin. “So many wounds… you must have gone through so much pain.” Jaskier hummed, running his fingertips over one deep scar across Geralt’s shoulder blade. 

It was an unexpected remark. Geralt wasn’t sure what to say. So he stated the obvious as well. 

“I’m a Witcher.” he spoke. “Getting scars is my job. I get paid to kill monsters. But monsters usually don’t want to be killed. They fight back. There is no avoiding it.”

Jaskier nodded solemnly, thinking about it. His soap-covered hands ran over Geralt’s strong shoulders, and down his arms, washing his skin thoroughly. “I’m getting hickeys often. That’s also a part of my job.” he joked eventually, but could tell right away that Geralt didn’t appreciate the humour. 

He cleared his throat, and moved to the other side of the tub, in front of Geralt. Reaching with both hands under the water, Jaskier pulled out Geralt’s heavy leg, and propped it against the edge of the tub, before proceeding rubbing the soap all over it.

Geralt smirked a little bit. “You get those hickeys in much nicer circumstances, I imagine.”

Jaskier smiled brightly and let out a small sigh of relief, when it turned out that Geralt liked the joke after all. He washed both his legs, and then made Geralt lean forward a little, so that he could scrub his back too. The conversation between them seemed to develop, and the heavy silence that surrounded this unlikely encounter before, was now long forgotten.

“But I am a Witcher because they made me like this. They trained me, made me drink potions, go through all the nasty shit that turned my eyes like this… I have no choice, this is who I am now. Scars are a package deal. But you… why do you work here…?” Geralt asked, only realizing at the end of this sentence that perhaps his question was rude or tactless. “I meant… I heard you sing. You’re very good. You could easily make a living just out of it.”

Jaskier didn’t seem offended, he just shrugged, seemingly carelessly. However, Geralt couldn’t tell what truly was his reaction, since Jaskier was behind him now, trying to clean over two weeks old dirt off his back.

“I tried. I did want to be a minstrel, at first… I studied poetry in Oxenfurt. I write all my songs, and compose the music. I once dreamt that… I will be famous, I will play on courts and in royal castles, write songs about real events, real people.” Jaskier talked, and at the same time he started washing Geralt’s hair. First, he got it wet by squeezing a soaked cloth and letting the water drip all over Geralt’s white hair. Then, his fingers slowly combed through the strands, covering them with sweetly scented shampoo. “I imagined my songs will remain long after I’m gone. But… it just wasn’t as easy as I thought. I was young, I knew nothing about the world. People don’t care about poems and music. There is war, famine, poverty… people have too many problems to pay attention to fine arts. I was _barely_ making any living, some days I didn’t know if I will have anything to eat, or a place to spend the night in. I came to Novigrad looking for a more steady job, and this place was… just as good as any.” 

Geralt listened intently, not daring to interrupt. He actually enjoyed himself. He felt clean and relaxed, Jaskier’s voice, even when he wasn’t singing, was very soothing. And the way he touched his scalp and hair as he washed them was far too pleasant for the Witcher to admit. 

“Favindel, the owner, heard me sing in some shady tavern. He offered me a roof to sleep under and food to keep me from starving. He even said I will get to sing my ballads here. I treat performing on stage as my primary job, the guests are often generous with their tips too. I just have to do this one additional thing… it’s not so bad. Most men are nice to me, and I would lie if I said I am not enjoying myself. I make a living, and then some. It’s worth it. They know my songs, they ask for specific ones and even sing along. That makes me very happy.”

Jaskier sighed, and generously rinsed Geralt’s head with clean water. As he circled the bathtub and faced the Witcher again, he was smiling in this charming, carefree way that made him look the prettiest. Any hints of sadness or longing that may have been lurking in his voice before were now gone. 

“But here I am, boring you with talking about myself… what I really wanted to talk about are your scars.” Jaskier reminded, crouching down next to the tub. He folded his arms, propping them against the edge, and rested his chin, looking at Geralt through those impossibly beautiful lashes. “Tell me stories.”

“Stories?” Geralt raised his brows. 

“Yeah, about all these monsters that gave you scars. About places you travelled to, creatures you fought, your adventures, dangers, victories.” Jaskier sighed dreamily. 

He clearly missed those days when he got to travel, see new things, gain new audience for his ballads. His heart was aching for it, against his reason. Jaskier knew he could never make it on his own, that he couldn’t afford living on the road. Maybe he just wasn’t good enough of a poet? Or maybe people really didn’t care about silly songs when there were hostile armies ransacking villages every couple days; kings falling victim to poison slipped into their food by power-hungry rivals; elves killing anyone who dared to set foot in the forest; just war, hunger, and death. Who needs a damn song then? No one. 

“Alright… I suppose I could tell you some stories like that.” the Witcher agreed, leaning back against the tub. Water splashed softly around him as he moved, little droplets dripping from the ends of his hair. “Anything in particular that you want to know?”

“Everything.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys! i know i made you wait for this chapter a bit, so i hope it was worth it <3 it's a really long and saucy one <3
> 
> before you start reading, i just want to make a note that at the beginning of this chapter i am referencing two stories from the first Witcher book "The Last Wish" by Andrzej Sapkowski.  
> the first story i mention in his chapter is a story of man in a monster's mask, Nivellen, and a female vampire (a 'bruxa'), and it's called "A Grain of Truth". this short story did not appear in the Netflix's adaptation.  
> the second story i mention is "The Edge of the World" and it was of course featured in Netflix's adaptation, later becoming the subject of Jaskier's famous song "Toss a coin to your Witcher" :) however, the bit about Queen of the Field was omitted in the Netflix's show. but it doesn't matter, you can of course read and enjoy the chapter without knowing this :D
> 
> enjoy!

❀❀❀

_“Tell me stories.”_

_“Stories?” Geralt raised his brows._

_“Yeah, about all these monsters that gave you scars. About places you travelled to, creatures you fought, your adventures, dangers, victories.” Jaskier sighed dreamily._

❀❀❀

“No way!” Jaskier exclaimed, gasping loudly. “And she was a what you said… a _bruxa_?”

“Yes, bruxa is a type of female vampire.” Geralt nodded, “They can also alter dreams and cause nightmares. The moment Nivellen told me about his recurring dreams, I knew it must be it.”

Quite some time has passed already, and the water in Geralt’s bath turned tepid. But Jaskier was so invested in all the stories Geralt had to tell, that the Witcher couldn’t refuse when he asked for another. 

“That is uncanny… so what happened next? If Vereena turned out to be a vampire, a monster… then you had to kill her, right?” Jaskier asked, cheeks flushed and eyes shimmering. He was genuinely interested in everything Geralt was saying. It caused a little tingling sensation at the pit of the Witcher’s stomach. 

“Yes. But she was fast, almost too fast for me. I would surely be killed if it wasn’t for Nivellen. He distracted the bruxa long enough for me to strike a fatal blow. But before she died, Vereena pushed herself even further onto the sword, and her blood fell on Nivellen. She showed an ultimate sacrifice of true love, and lifted the curse that was put on him.” Geralt concluded the story.

Jaskier’s eyes widened, and he let out a little squeaky noise. “You’re kidding! A vampire sacrificed herself to break the curse on her beloved? And he turned human again?” 

“Indeed. Nivellen was a beast no more after that. He looked quite normal once again.” the Witcher confirmed.  
  


Jaskier seemed absolutely delighted. He quickly scrambled onto his feet and went to rummage through his dresser and desk. After a moment, he returned with a piece of parchment and a quill, and started furiously scribbling something. 

“What are you doing?” Geralt questioned, leaning forward in the tub to better see what Jaskier was writing. The soapy water that moved around him was getting unpleasantly cool. 

“I’m writing down ideas for ballads, obviously. All of your adventures are an excellent material!” Jaskier said without even looking up from his scribbles. “They have everything that people want to hear about… tragic love, bloody battles, mystery, magic… I would never made all of that up, and I have a very vivid imagination, mind you.”

Geralt let out a small chuckle, finding the bard’s excitement very amusing. “No one will want to listen to ballads about a Witcher.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes and sighed. “Which one of us studied poetry, me or you? Just trust me on this.” he huffed, playfully tickling Geralt’s nose with the end of his quill. “Next time you come to Novigrad everyone will be singing about the devil that sided with elves, and the Queen of the Fields. And about _you_ , of course.”

“Alright then…” Geralt agreed hesitantly. “But if you get booed off the stage and have rotten tomatoes thrown at you instead of flowers, don’t blame me.”

“Fine by me. I plan on making a lot of money on these ballads, so if you want nothing to do with them, it means I won’t have to share a single coin.” Jaskier replied cheekily, sticking his tongue out at Geralt. He dipped his fingers in the bathwater and splashed some onto Geralt’s face to tease him. He then noticed that the water went cold, and he quickly set his parchments aside, as if suddenly remembering that writing poems was not the purpose of their tête-à-tête.

“Sorry, I took so much of your time and meanwhile you’re sitting in cold water!” Jaskier apologized, grabbing a towel and standing in front of the bathtub, spreading the towel out in his outstretched arms. “Come out of there, or you will catch a cold. Can a Witcher even catch a cold? Anyway, come out.” Jaskier babbled, waiting with the towel. 

Geralt lifted himself up, water dripping from his body as he slowly stepped out of the tub. Jaskier wasn’t even trying to pretend that he wasn’t staring. His eyes scanned Geralt’s muscular form from head to toe, his gaze sliding over the Witcher’s wet skin. He couldn’t wait for when he will be able to touch him more…

Jaskier wrapped the towel around Geralt’s waist, using the opportunity to lightly caress his backside and hips. Playful glimmer appeared in his eyes as Geralt silently accepted his touch. That was somewhat a progress. “Go sit down, I will grab another towel to dry your hair.” the bard said, nudging Geralt towards the bed.

The Witcher sat down atop a soft, warm comforter that was thrown over the bedsheets. It’s been weeks since he had an opportunity to sleep in actual bed, not to mention such a big and cozy one. He could understand why Jaskier held onto this place, despite what kind of services he had to perform in order to live here. This was steady, safe. Geralt saw the appeal of never having to worry about your next meal or a warm place to spend the night in. 

Jaskier stepped in front of Geralt, and used a smaller towel to gently rub the wet strands of his hair. He patted them dry patiently, while smiling down at the Witcher. “Are you feeling a little better? You were so tired before, but I’m sure now after a solid meal and hot bath, it must feel great.”

“Yeah, I feel much better. Thank you.” Geralt replied. And he actually meant it. Not only physically, but otherwise as well, Geralt felt much better. Jaskier's pleasant company and their entertaining conversation put Geralt in a good mood. The bard turned out to be a very interesting person. And it was definitely flattering when he would fawn over his stories so much, complimenting Geralt and repeating over and over how fantastic it was that he was a Witcher. Jaskier wasn't seeing him as a monster, a mutant, an outsider. 

The bard finished drying Geralt’s hair, ruffling it playfully with the towel. Geralt liked the way Jaskier touched him… his hands were tender, careful and delicate around his scars, even though they didn’t have to be. The Witcher wondered if this was also a part of Jaskier’s ‘service’, if he touched other men in the same manner. For some reason, it caused an unpleasant, stinging feeling in Geralt’s gut. He couldn’t name this feeling. But he just didn’t like the thought that the treatment he was getting wasn’t anything special. Geralt felt stupid for being bothered by this. But… no one ever cared to just talk to him, to get to know him, to acknowledge his human part that was still somewhere inside him. Jaskier did. Geralt wanted to think that this was something real, even if it was going to last only this one night. If it was all an act, he didn’t want to know. 

Jaskier took a step back to put the towel away, but Geralt stopped him, placing his strong hands against the bard’s hips. He pulled him back, closer. Jaskier’s lips curled up in a smile, and he let the towel drop down onto the floor instead. He understood that Geralt was ready to move on now. Finally, took him long enough.

He slipped onto Geralt’s lap slowly, crossing his legs on one side in an elegant manner, and draping his arms over the Witcher’s shoulders. Gold glitter clung to Geralt’s wet skin as Jaskier pressed closer. “So hey… you don’t have to be nervous about this. I’ve had first-timers before, I will take care of you.” Jaskier whispered. 

There was a moment of silence between them, and then Geralt’s hand curled around Jaskier’s waist slowly, pulling him a little closer against himself. It made Jaskier smile contently. He felt that the Witcher accepted the closeness. 

Jaskier’s half-lidded, storm-grey eyes met Geralt’s own. Looking into those yellow, dangerous eyes made him shudder, breath almost hitching in his throat. He leaned closer against the Witcher’s strong body, feeling Geralt’s hold tighten around him. Their noses lightly brushed together, and Jaskier teased, stubbornly keeping the small space between their lips. Geralt maybe seemed calm, but Jaskier was so close that he could feel the pounding of his heart, his rapid pulse. He shifted slightly on the Witcher’s lap, to see if he could already feel where all this blood was rushing to. 

He could.

Finally, Geralt couldn’t stand this any longer. His fingers tightened on Jaskier’s hips to steady the trembling of his hands. Leaning in, he pressed their lips together, so firmly and hungrily that Jaskier let out a startled hum. But obviously, the bard kissed back. He kissed back the Witcher’s warm lips just as hard, just as needily. He melted into the kiss, actually surprised just how badly he craved it, how impossible it was for him to stop himself now.

Jaskier had enough of teasing and games. There was no denying that they both wanted this. It was clear in the way they kissed, feverishly, wantonly, the kind of kiss that leaves you gasping for air. Jaskier cupped Geralt’s face in both his hands, making it impossible for the Witcher to pull back even if he wanted. But Geralt didn’t want to. 

Jaskier tasted like sweet peaches, wine, and peppermint. He tasted like fireplace on a cold, rainy night. Like medicine when you’re sick. Like cool breeze on hot, summer afternoon. Like fresh, clean laundry. Like warm sunlight after the storm. Jaskier tasted like everything he needed, but never knew just how badly.

Geralt pressed his tongue against Jaskier’s soft lips, and the bard gave in, parting them and letting out a little, low moan. The kiss deepened, and it was almost difficult for Jaskier to keep up. Geralt’s tongue pressed into his mouth, his teeth grazed and nipped over his bottom lip, it was making him dizzy. When they first met downstairs, and Geralt was all grunts and glares, Jaskier didn’t suspect that the Witcher can muster up such passion and heat. 

Squirming in Geralt’s lap, Jaskier slowly moved one of his hands down along his body. Without ever breaking the kiss, the bard’s touch travelled down the Witcher’s broad chest, toned stomach, and slipped behind the towel wrapped around his hips. He could feel Geralt tensing, and how he slightly jerked in surprise. 

“Shh… just trust me…” Jaskier whispered against Geralt’s lips. His hand gently caressed down the Witcher’s hip, then over his thigh. When Jaskier’s fingers wandered over the inside of Geralt’s thigh, Geralt let out a soft grunt. He rested his forehead against Jaskier’s own, closing his eyes.

Jaskier’s hand wrapped around Geralt’s manhood, and to the bard’s delight, it was already hard. He let his fingers squeeze gently around it, feeling its weight and warmth in his hold. He let out a breathy sigh, shuddering. Geralt’s inhuman body was impressive in its entirety. 

He started stroking him slowly, testing the waters. His hand slid down along the shaft, rubbing around the base, then stroked back up. Jaskier’s fingers felt over the velvety skin, the veins, mapping Geralt’s hardness with his skilled, gentle touch. He stroked around the head, pressing his thumb teasingly against the tip and rubbing it a little, smearing beads of slick precum. 

Jaskier’s hand moved underneath the towel steadily, still slowly and patiently. He looked Geralt in the eyes intensely, breath a bit heavier already. It was hard to read from Geralt’s face, but Jaskier noticed how he clenched his jaw, how his nostrils moved when he inhaled sharply. Finally, the bard was rewarded with a content grunt from the Witcher. 

He pressed a small kiss to Geralt’s mouth, then brushed his lips over his bottom lip, slowly trailing little kisses and pecks along his jaw. With his hand still stroking up and down along Geralt’s cock, Jaskier began kissing down his neck, lips feeling his rapid pulse, and the way his throat moved in uneven, heavy breaths. 

“Lay back a little…” Jaskier whispered as he shifted off Geralt’s lap. His hand gently pushed at the Witcher’s chest, and Geralt leaned back, resting on his elbows. Jaskier kissed down his chest slowly, as if trying to give equal attention to each and every scar on his way. 

He slid down onto the floor, and knelt next to the bed, opening the towel that covered Geralt until now. Geralt craned his neck, looking down at Jaskier on his knees, kissing softly over the sharp edges of his hips. The Witcher’s cock pressed against Jaskier’s cheek, and the bard tilted his head brushing his lips against the wet, glistening tip.

Geralt’s breath hitched, and his cock twitched against Jaskier’s lips. The bard opened his mouth, and let the head slip in between his lips. He closed his eyes, his lashes creating fluttering shadows on his cheeks. 

Couple of first gentle sucks and Geralt saw stars. He was already so starved, so impatient, that when Jaskier finally took him into his mouth, he felt light-headed. “ _Fuck_ …” he grunted, goosebumps blooming all over his skin. His hair stood on end. And Jaskier clearly liked this reaction, because he took more of Geralt, suckling around the tip at first, and then pushing his head down slowly, tongue sliding along the underside of Geralt’s cock.

Geralt’s head fell back, and the stopped even trying to contain the sounds of pleasure that were building inside him. His mouth hung open, and with every breath he became very vocal about how much he enjoyed what Jaskier was doing. Chest raising and falling heavily, Geralt had to physically stop himself from pushing his hips up. But even though it was an absolute torture, there was also something incredibly delightful and thrilling when Jaskier took it slow like that. 

Hands resting gently on the insides of Geralt’s thighs, keeping his legs apart, Jaskier could feel how the Witcher’s muscles trembled. Oh yes, he knew what he was doing. He knew how to drive a man crazy with his mouth alone. And clearly not just with his singing. 

Breathing heavily through his nose, Jaskier relaxed his jaw and pushed his head further down, attempting to take more of Geralt. But going even half-way through was a challenge with this size. Jaskier swallowed around Geralt’s cock, making it slide a bit further down his throat. This earned him a wonderfully loud moan, and soon after Jaskier felt Geralt’s hand touching his hair. 

He looked up at the Witcher, and pulled back slowly, making a show of sticking out his tongue and showing Geralt how his cock slid out of his mouth. Strings of saliva still connected the wet tip with Jaskier’s reddened lips, and the bard's cool breath ghosted over the sensitive flesh, sending a shudder through Geralt’s body. 

“Do that again.” Geralt hummed, fingers slowly tightening their hold on Jaskier’s hair, accidentally crumpling couple of flowers he wore on his head. 

With a push of Geralt’s hand, Jaskier took his cock back into his mouth, going as far as he could without choking. And then some more. He tried to loosen his throat, but Geralt’s size and thickness were quite a challenge. He felt the head of the Witcher’s cock press at the back of his throat, and he swallowed, letting the length slide further in. Geralt’s hand was holding his head in place, and Jaskier’s toes curled at the feeling. His cheeks flushed, and he let out a muffled little moan. Geralt responded with a pleasured sound of his own. 

Only once Geralt’s hand tugged him back by the hair, Jaskier was able to pull back with an obscene slurp, gasping for air. His throat felt dry, but he quickly swallowed, and once again wrapped his lips around the tip of Geralt’s cock. Helping himself with his hand that massaged Geralt around the base, Jaskier picked up his pace a little, now fully showing off his skills.

Tongue swirling and curling, Jaskier made it his goal to tear as many embarrassing moans from Geralt as possible. He sucked and kissed him, giving all of his attention to Geralt’s rock hard member. Mouthing and licking at his balls, Jaskier teased a little pressing soft kisses up and down the twitching shaft, until Geralt had to grunt out a warning that it tickles. 

Jaskier laughed breathlessly, and finally had mercy, once again attempting to swallow Geralt’s massive size, and then bobbing his head in a nice, steady rhythm. With content, he listened to Geralt’s moans, and the way the Witcher heavily whispered his name… it made Jaskier’s body tingle, and his own cock became a nuisance, hardening underneath his tunic. 

Geralt’s hand was guiding him, but the touch wasn’t forceful. It was a firm hold on his hair, but still gentle enough. Jaskier wondered if Geralt was just unsure, given that it was his first time with a man, or if he really cared not to violate his vocal cords too much. 

Whatever the case, Geralt seemed to be enjoying himself either way. His breath got quicker, and grunts and moans more frequent. Jaskier doubled his efforts, altering between sucking around the head of Geralt’s cock, and letting the entire length to slide down his throat. His head moved up and down between the Witcher’s legs, soft whimpers coming from the bard whenever the plump tip of his member would press against the back of his throat. 

Suddenly, Geralt sat up, and tugged at his hair, pulling Jaskier’s head back. The bard caught a breath, coughing a little, and licked his lips as he looked up. The Witcher’s eyes were darkened, his gaze intense. Through clenched teeth, he was letting out heavy, rapid breaths. At this sight, a damp spot formed on the front front of Jaskier’s tunic, as the fabric soaked precum already seeping from his neglected cock. 

“If you keep at it, it will be over way too soon. I was told I have you for the whole night.” Geralt huffed, calming down a little eventually. 

Jaskier ginned weakly, his jaw feeling numb. “Oh don’t worry… I have full intention on keeping you entertained all night long.” he purred. And well, he felt rather flattered to know that Geralt was barely keeping himself from coming. 

Geralt grabbed Jaskier’s arm and pulled him up from his knees, and back onto his lap. The bard straddled him this time, and had no way of hiding how excited he was as well. Especially once he felt Geralt’s strong hands brushing up his thighs, and sneaking underneath his tunic. Those hands… so rough and calloused, and yet so careful and gentle with him, the way they touched him made Jaskier shiver. He bit down onto his lower lip, arching his back a little, and leaning into the touch. 

Geralt moved his hands up Jaskier’s hips and further along his sides, lifting the sheer yellow tunic, until finally he was able to pull it over the bard’s head and remove it completely. His cat-like eyes scanned the bard’s naked form, and Jaskier couldn’t help but feel a little flustered under such intense gaze. 

The flickering candlelight emphasized subtle lines of muscles underneath Jaskier’s smooth, light skin. His body was firm, lightly toned, and yet lean enough to be considered almost dainty. Contrast to the Witcher’s scar-covered torso, Jaskier’s skin was spotless. With even the smallest movement, it sparkled with gold glitter powder. Geralt found him… beautiful. There was no other way to describe it. Up until now, the Witcher didn’t think that men could be ‘beautiful’. Maybe elves, but not humans. 

He curiously ran his hand down along Jaskier’s body, feeling how smooth and delicate it was. Geralt then thought that Jaskier could never really be a minstrel that lived on the road, slept in random barns or under the stars, spend his days on a back of a horse or on a wagon stacked with hay. He was too fragile for this, too soft. 

Geralt’s fingers brushed past Jaskier’s navel, and hesitated only for a moment, before slowly wrapping around the bard’s impatiently twitching cock. Jaskier let out a small high-pitched whimper, and had to place his hands over Geralt’s shoulders to steady himself. 

“Mhm _fuck_ … I don’t know how to do this, so just tell me if this feels wrong.” Geralt grunted, finding the angle of his hand awkward. He knew how to stroke himself like that, but doing it to someone else felt surprisingly different. It was kind of embarrassing. But Jaskier just nodded, unable to utter a word. So that was a good sign. 

The bard covered Geralt’s hand with his own, guiding his movements at first, helping him establish a nice rhythm. “Like this… is good…” Jaskier whimpered, cheeks flushed and eyes hazed. 

Geralt’s hand rubbed along his length slowly, at first unsure, but then under Jaskier’s guidance, he seemed to be getting a hang of it. It was fascinating to see the bard’s reactions. He seemed to be in charge before, cheeky and bold, but now absolutely melted into Geralt’s touch. His hips began swaying, pushing up into Geralt’s hand. To say he enjoyed it would be an understatement. 

His lips, trembling slightly and parted in breathless moans, looked so tempting and inviting, that Geralt couldn’t help himself but to lean in and capture them in a kiss. Jaskier seemed startled at first, but quickly accepted it, placing his free hand on the back of Geralt’s neck, and pulling him in. Geralt’s tongue found its way in between those sweet lips, and pressed against Jaskier’s own, tasting him hungrily. 

It was a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss, so impatient and needy that it took their breaths away. Jaskier rocked his hips into Geralt’s hand, letting out muffled moans against his lips. When they finally pulled back for air, Jaskier gently unwrapped the Witcher’s fingers from around his cock, and lifted it up to his mouth. 

Without breaking the eye-contact, he pushed two of Geralt’s fingers past his lips, and sucked on them. Geralt instinctively pressed down onto his tongue, forcing Jaskier’s mouth open, saliva dripping down his chin. 

“What are you doing?” the Witcher asked quietly.

Jaskier’s tongue swirled around Geralt’s fingers, and he pulled back slowly, almost seductively humming around them. Without a word, he lowered Geralt’s hand down between his legs, and shifted in his lap. 

Geralt’s fingers were guided to press against Jaskier’s entrance, and the bard gasped quietly as he felt the careful touch. “Start with one.” he whispered.

Geralt rubbed the tip of his middle finger against the delicate, puckered flesh, feeling around, before finally pressing inside through slight resistance of muscles. Jaskier closed his eyes, and held his breath for a moment. His body was tight and warm inside, and it accepted Geralt’s finger with relative ease, as it slowly pushed deeper inside him. 

Couple initial movements were more experimental than anything, but once Geralt discovered what sort of lovely reactions he was able to gain from Jaskier that way, he got more confident. He moved his finger in and out slowly, in long, lazy movements, and Jaskier’s body shuddered, arching and bending into his touch. 

Seeing Jaskier squirm on his lap in such delightful way encouraged Geralt to take initiative. He pulled his finger out completely, and when he entered him again, two fingers pushed in this time. Jaskier let out a low moan, and rested his forehead against Geralt’s shoulder. “Oh yes…” he breathed, rolling his hips eagerly.

He felt slight discomfort of being stretched, but it was nothing comparing to how good it felt. Geralt’s rough hands treated him so gently and patiently, and Jaskier felt warmth spreading through his entire body. As he rocked his hips in the rhythm of Geralt’s fingers moving inside him, his cock rubbed against the Witcher’s stomach, the additional stimulation sending chills down his spine. 

With Jaskier moaning right into his ear now, Geralt too started to feel incredibly impatient. Like this, the bard was out of this world alluring, and the Witcher had to admit that he wanted him. He craved this cheeky bastard that dropped into his life in such an absurd way, completely by chance, and in only one evening managed to wrap him around his skilled little fingers. 

“Jaskier…” Geralt began in low, hoarse voice. But it seemed that Jaskier read his mind, or rather, the absolutely electrifying tension between them became unbearable. 

Nothing more had to be said. Jaskier shifted on his knees, and pressed his hands against Geralt’s shoulders, pushing him to lay down on his back. Geralt pulled his fingers out, and firmly placed his hands on Jaskier’s hips instead. He held onto him, keeping him steady, as Jaskier took a hold of his cock, and guided it towards his entrance.

Despite previous preparation, once again Geralt could feel resistance as the plump head of his cock forced its way inside Jaskier. Obviously, his fingers were hardly just as thick as to prepare for this. But Jaskier only winced slightly, exhaling slowly as he lowered himself onto the Witcher’s prominent manhood. His legs trembled, but Geralt’s strong hands kept him grounded. His eyes rolled back as he felt the entire length of Geralt’s cock entering him, sliding deep inside him.

Finally, Geralt settled inside fully. The way Jaskier’s tightness enveloped him left him breathless. He looked up at the bard who was biting down onto his lip in effort to adjust to Geralt’s size inside him. The Witcher felt like he should comfort him, so he ran his hands gently up along his sides in a soothing motion, caressing over his skin, feeling how he shuddered, but gradually relaxed under his touch. 

Jaskier opened his eyes and looked down at Geralt from behind the curtain of his dark lashes. He smirked weakly, and placed his hands against Geralt’s chest for support. For a longer moment only their uneven breathing could be heard, along with rain tapping on the windowsill outside. 

Then, Jaskier began to move. Slowly, steadily, almost cautiously rolled his hips forward, letting Geralt’s cock slide out of him more than half-way through, before he pushed back onto it again. Immediately, his mouth gaped open and he wasn’t even trying to stifle a loud moan that escaped him. He repeated the movement, feeling himself adjusting to Geralt’s size. Guided by the Witcher’s hands that held his hips firmly, Jaskier picked up his pace gradually. He soon established a nice rhythm, rocking his hips and moving atop Geralt. 

Jaskier’s cock was bouncing lightly between his legs as he rode the Witcher eagerly. And Geralt was not getting lazy either. Soon, the pleasure overwhelmed him, and he wasn’t able to keep still. Pushing his hips up to meet Jaskier’s movements, he tightened his fingers on the bard’s hips, leaving faint round bruises. He tried to be patient, and allow Jaskier to take his time, and get used to the feeling of being filled by the Witcher’s size, but keeping things docile wasn’t easy. Definitely not for long.

Jaskier was not only beautiful and seductive, but also very skilled. The way he moved, the way his body would squeeze around Geralt’s cock with each roll of his hips, was driving the Witcher mad. The way he moaned and whimpered in pleasure, each time Geralt would push his hips and thrust up into him, was an absolutely lewd sound. 

Soon this beautiful bard was gasping for air, riding Geralt until his legs trembled with effort. Light sweat covered his shimmering skin, glistening in dim candlelight. He moved steadily, clearly having a habit of putting his client’s pleasure first. Despite being out of breath and having his muscles trembling, Jaskier kept going. 

Geralt lost his composure, not able to keep neither still nor quiet any longer. He arched his back, pushing his cock deeper into Jaskier with a groan. He could see that Jaskier winced briefly, his hands tensing against the Witcher’s chest, but he didn’t complain. And after a couple more thrusts like that, the grimace on Jaskier’s face turned into an expression of pleasure and bliss. 

Jaskier’s own cock swayed between his legs, rock hard and seeping sticky precum onto Geralt’s stomach. He knew if he touched himself, he wouldn’t be able to last much longer. But again, client’s satisfaction came first. How he will stop himself though, Jaskier didn’t know… He was curious about going to bed with a Witcher from the beginning, and this definitely lived up to his expectations, even exceeded them. Geralt fucked like beast that he was, firm and hard. He held him tight, almost to the point where it was painful, he claimed him… Jaskier was dizzy, breathless, his toes curling, and he absolutely adored having Geralt inside him. It was difficult to even think straight at this point, and all that was on Jaskier’s mind was to ride Geralt all night long.

Geralt seemed to have the same plan in mind. But this was not enough for him. Jaskier was excellent on top, eager and skillful, but Geralt needed more. His inhuman body craved more intense sensations, Jaskier’s efforts only fueling those cravings more and more.

Finally, Geralt couldn’t take it any longer. His hold on Jaskier’s hips tightened even more, to the point where the bard nearly cried out in pain. Geralt shifted himself off the bed, and rolled them over, pinning Jaskier down. The force of it knocked the air out of Jaskier’s lungs, and strangled a surprised gasp. Geralt’s mouth immediately pressed into the crook of Jaskier’s neck, and with a groan, he sucked onto his skin, teeth grazing the surface threateningly. 

“Nnn… _ah_ , Geralt…!” Jaskier whimpered weakly, hands gripping onto Geralt’s shoulders, fingers digging into his skin. He tilted his head back, exposing his neck more, his flower crown falling off onto the bedsheets, crumpled and tattered. Usually when he was with a client, Jaskier would exaggerate a little, but this time he didn’t have to. When he moaned Geralt’s name loudly, it was genuine… it just felt _so good_ to be pinned to this bed, claimed by this half-feral Witcher who left a bruised bite-mark on his neck. Favindel will be upset that Jaskier let a client mark him like that, but Jaskier couldn’t care less.

Geralt’s hips snapped, and he began thrusting into Jaskier. He entered him deep, hard, with low grunt that more resembled a growl. The weight of his body pressed the bard down against the bed, and with each firm thrusts the bed would creak slightly. 

A thought briefly flashed through the Witcher’s mind, whether he wasn’t hurting Jaskier, but soon enough his doubts washed away. Jaskier’s arms draped over Geralt’s shoulders, nails grazing across the skin of his back and leaving faint, reddened lines. He lifted his legs, spreading them wider, and wrapped them around Geralt’s waist, pulling the Witcher close, deeper. And the sounds he was making were definitely those of pleasure not pain. 

“ _Fuck_ , Jaskier…” Geralt huffed hotly against the skin of Jaskier’s neck, muscles of his thighs tensing as he moved, rocking his hips and pounding into the bard. His body was pulling him right in, each time Geralt pulled back, then when he would push back in Jaskier rolled his hips up to take him in eagerly. 

“I know... “ Jaskier moaned, realizing exactly what Geralt’s point was. This felt fucking amazing, as if the whole world narrowed to just this bedroom. 

Jaskier tilted his head to the side to look at Geralt, his face obscured by the mass of white hair, still slightly damp from the bath. The Witcher must have felt his gaze because he looked back after a moment, and was once again dumbstruck by Jaskier’s beautiful storm-grey eyes, now cloudy and hazed with lust. Jaskier pulled him closer, arms tightening around Geralt’s neck, and he pressed their lips together in a sloppy, needy kiss. 

The kiss made Jaskier’s heart skip a beat, and he got embarrassed about that, even though it was impossible for Geralt to feel that.

“Harder… I need more of you…” Jaskier whimpered in between heavy breaths, trying to urge Geralt to thrust into him harder by squeezing his legs around his waist and pulling him in impatiently. 

And Geralt didn’t have to stop and think if Jaskier could really take it, he could feel that their bodies moved in unison, that the chemistry between them made the air around them heavy. Raw desire was evident. 

He obliged, supporting his weight on his arms that he propped against the mattress, Geralt snapped his hips firmly, thrusting his cock hard and deep into Jaskier. The bard cried out, but a weak, satisfied smile crept onto his lips. It was enough to cause Geralt to lose the last bits of his control. 

With the next hard thrust, Jaskier arched his back off the bed in pleasure, and Geralt wrapped his arms around the bard’s waist, scooping him in into his embrace, and holding onto him tight. Jaskier saw stars as the Witcher granted his wish, and fucked him hard and deep, with his hips obscenely slapping against his skin. But the way Geralt held him in his arms made him feel safe. He knew he could let go, so he closed his eyes, rested his head against Geralt’s shoulder, and just melted into this strong embrace. 

Neither of them could feel the numbness of their muscles, the soreness, the tingling, stinging pain of the scratched and bitten skin. All they could feel was overwhelming, nearly euphoric pleasure. Jaskier’s tight body was now relaxed, and perfectly snug and welcoming for Geralt’s hard, throbbing cock. The way it was filling him, with each deep thrust, had Jaskier whimpering for more, his words drowning in both of their rapid breathing. His lips tickled Geralt’s ear as he would whisper the Witcher’s name over and over.

There was a chance that Jaskier’s wooden bed wouldn’t make it through the night. It was creaking constantly, as Geralt was not slowing down his pace, pounding into Jaskier. He felt that he will either break this bed or lose his mind, and soon. Growing tightness in his lower stomach, warmth building up there, told him that he was getting close to his release. Geralt couldn’t imagine ever stopping though, couldn’t imagine being even more than an inch apart from Jaskier. 

His body had no mercy though. His orgasm was already building up, and no wonder, since Jaskier so eagerly and sweetly asked for more, so tightly kept Geralt’s body pressed to his own, holding onto him for dear life. But it was almost a shame to bring this to an end…

Geralt’s breathing became rugged, and with each thrust into Jaskier’s heated, welcoming body, a low, primal moan was being torn from his throat. He tried to control his pulse, his breath, to make it last longer, but he was at the same time sabotaging himself. It just felt _too fucking good_ to deny. 

Jaskier must have felt it, recognize it in Geralt’s breathy moans, and the way his body shuddered, how his cock throbbed inside him. He kissed Geralt’s neck gently, right below his ear, and whispered breathlessly. “Go on… go on, Geralt… don’t hold back.” the bard encouraged. 

Geralt couldn’t resist such sweet pleading even if he wanted. By then, he was on the edge, his body aching for release. With each thrust he could feel his cock throbbing impatiently, so hard it was almost painful, his balls tight.

As he felt the release approaching fast, he tried to pulled back. He shifted on the bed, hand grabbing Jaskier’s hip and trying to push himself back, but Jaskier only wrapped his legs around his waist tighter.

“Don’t…” Jaskier begged, holding onto Geralt. “Stay inside, please…” 

The words alone caused Geralt to shudder in delight. The sheer want in the bard’s voice was not something he could fake. Perhaps beyond reason, Geralt was convinced that Jaskier never spoke in such way to other clients.

And he was done for. His body tensed, and he could feel tingling in his stomach wash all over him, travel down his spine and explode into an intense, fierce feeling of completion. His cock twitched, and he pushed his hips forward, entering Jaskier deeply and roughly. His own heartbeat pounded loudly in his ears, and through it he could faintly hear Jaskier’s near desperate moans. 

Geralt came in long, sharp bursts shaking through his body. He kept rocking his hips, feeling himself sliding inside Jaskier with more ease now, as his cum filled him. The feeling of sudden warmth spilling inside him pushed Jaskier over the edge as well. Truth be told, the bard was holding back himself for sometimes now. Always being told by the brothel owner that his client pleasure was a priority, Jaskier didn’t dare to let go until Geralt reached his release.

But now, he just allowed it to happen, especially since the feeling of Geralt coming inside him was so intense that it just rocked his world and left him breathless. His own orgasm shook his body, made him arch and squirm in Geralt’s firm embrace. He scratched along Geralt’s back, trembled in his arms, spilling himself copiously onto his stomach. 

For both of them it almost seemed neverending. Neither of them was sure how long it has been, but the pleasure that built up within them was released with such intensity that they couldn’t think straight or comprehend how much time have passed. Nothing existed beyond the hold of Geralt’s strong arms, Jaskier’s soft moans, and their shuddering bodies pressed close together.

Eventually, Geralt rested his weight down against Jaskier, unable to support himself up any longer. His hips still rocked lazily, as last little bits of pleasure rolled through him. He was breathing heavily, and for the longest while, he was unable to move a muscle or speak. But Jaskier didn’t mind. He too, spent and immensely satisfied, just lied there, hands gently and slowly running through Geralt’s hair, stroking it soothingly. They were both sweaty, sticky, bruised and tired. And they never felt better.

It suddenly was calm. And quiet. The rain outside was still falling, tapping against the window, but they were safe and warm in here, and Jaskier didn’t have a care in the world in that moment. 

After some time, when their breaths evened and calmed down, and muscles stopped trembling, Geralt shifted and rolled off Jaskier, dropping heavily onto the bed beside him. Jaskier let out a small, displeased whimper when the Witcher’s soft cock slipped out of him. Without Geralt’s body atop him he was left empty and cold. 

“Fuck…” Geralt grunted quietly.

“Fuck…” Jaskier agreed, staring up at the ceiling in awe.

Once he was able to overcome the feeling of having his limbs made of jelly, Jaskier rolled onto his side and came face to face with the Witcher resting beside him. 

“Geralt…” the bard whispered, and Geralt blinked a couple times to force his eyes open. “I want to do it again.” 


	4. Chapter 4

_Third time’s definitely a charm_ \- Jaskier thought giddily, biting down onto a pillow as Geralt pushed his cock into him from behind.

They have already fucked twice at night, then, exhausted, fell asleep for a couple hours in a heap of bedsheets. But when the dim, morning sunlight crept through the window, making its way shyly in between thick curtains, Geralt woke up out of habit. His back was stinging, covered in red scratch marks left by Jaskier’s nails. He looked over at the window, hearing the birds chirp somewhere far. The rain stopped. 

The entire building was quiet. Other customers either already left or were sleeping off their hangovers under the tables, or in their whores’ beds. Not a sound. 

Except for a soft snoring on the left side of the bed, next to Geralt.

The Witcher tilted his head lazily, and looked over at sleeping Jaskier. And two things happened then. 

First, Geralt was stunned, for the hundredth time, by how beautiful Jaskier was. When he was asleep, his features were even softer, gentler. His hair was messy, lips curled in a small pout. 

The second thing was, Geralt discovered he was hard. 

Sure, he had far more stamina than a regular human, but this was getting ridiculous. 

However initially Geralt tried to talk himself out of it, he wasn’t very convincing. Maybe he wasn’t really trying after all.

Jaskier woke up to Geralt kissing his neck, teasing his skin with his teeth, and in overall trying to get his attention.

Jaskier woke up with a smile on his face. 

And currently, he was laying on his side, with the Witcher spooning him from behind, and pushing his cock in between his asscheeks, to fuck him for the glorious third time. Oh Great Melitele, Geralt was so _huge,_ and Jaskier was so sore already after this night, but he still couldn’t resist. 

Geralt pushed all the way in with a smooth roll of his hips. Both groaned in delight as the Witcher settled balls-deep inside Jaskier. The bard’s fingers tightened on the pillow, and he arched his back, pushing eagerly against Geralt’s cock. It tore a loud moan from him, and Geralt’s hand curled around Jaskier’s mouth to silence him.

“You will wake everyone up.” the Witcher warned, and even though Jaskier couldn’t see his face, a playful smile was clear in his voice.

Jaskier giggled into Geralt’s hand, trying to swat it away. After a moment, the Witcher moved his hand off, and distracted Jaskier by pressing kisses to the back of his neck instead. He bit down gently, sucking on the patch of skin and leaving behind a faint, bruised hickey. 

“Geraaaalt…” Jaskier complained in a sleepy purr. “My boss will get mad.” But even though he was whining and trying to act like he really cared about what Favindel will say about this, Jaskier in fact couldn’t care less. He loved this. The way Geralt’s lips marked him so gently felt amazing. It made his stomach tingle pleasantly. He wanted those marks to stay and remind him of their night together, and he already knew that he will hate to see them fade away. 

In reply, Geralt began to move his hips, pushing his cock in and out of Jaskier in lazy, slow movements. Jaskier abandoned any pretense of giving a fuck at this point too. This just felt too good, and was way too fun. It wasn’t often that he got to forget what sort of job he had here. Maybe later he will regret fooling himself, but for now, Jaskier relished in the Witcher’s attention. 

Geralt’s hand grabbed Jaskier’s hip, and he pulled the bard closer against himself. His cock pushed deep inside, tearing another sweet moan from Jaskier’s already hoarse throat. It was so quiet otherwise, in the entire building, and only Jaskier’s breathy little whimpers were breaking this silence repeatedly. 

The fact that Jaskier couldn’t keep quiet was definitely exciting, and was making Geralt even more eager. His hand smoothly moved from Jaskier’s hip and slid down in between his legs. He wrapped his fingers around the bard’s cock, and gave it a couple teasing strokes, feeling how in hardened even more in his hold. 

Jaskier smirked, body shuddering at the touch. He was so overly-sensitive already after their night together, but obviously he couldn’t resist Geralt’s warm, rough hand stroking him nice and slow. And Geralt was a fast learner… what felt so awkward and foreign to him at the beginning of the night, now was almost natural. The Witcher touched Jaskier as if he knew exactly what he liked the most, and how to make him squirm in sheer delight. And he clearly enjoyed doing so.

“Mm… yes…” Jaskier hummed, pressing his face into a pillow. He rolled his hips, pushing himself up onto the hold of Geralt’s hand, then back against his cock inside him. He felt it stretching him, his body enveloping it tightly. When Geralt moved, even though his pace was gentle, almost drowsy, it made Jaskier’s toes curl. It was the kind of sex that he rarely experienced. He wanted it to last.

Geralt’s strong body pressed against Jaskier’s back as he was embracing him from behind, thrusting into him lazily. The Witcher was still sleepy, and it softened his senses. He pressed little kisses over Jaskier’s naked shoulder, gold glitter that still stuck to his skin was now clinging to Geralt’s lips. He could feel Jaskier had goosebumps, fair hair on the back of his neck standing on end.

“Geralt…” a weak, breathy whisper came from the bard.

“Yeah?” a reply murmured lowly against the skin of Jaskier’s neck, in between kisses.

“More…” 

Geralt shifted on the bed, and pushed himself up on his elbow. He moved to hover above Jaskier, crawling atop him slowly. Jaskier rolled fully onto his stomach as Geralt’s body rested heavily against his back. The Witcher supported himself on his knees to take some of the weight off. Poor Jaskier was already all aching and sore as it was. But he still didn’t seem to have enough.

Now, Geralt was able to enter Jaskier even deeper. As he started rocking his hips again, they both could feel that this new angle was bringing new sensations, new pleasures. His thrusts became more erratic and firm, pinning Jaskier down against the bed. 

“Like this?” Geralt asked in a soft growl, thrusting his cock deep inside Jaskier, wanting to hear one of those sweet, shuddering whimpers of his. Sweat was trailing down Geralt’s chest and stomach, and his skin glistened with it along with sparky golden bits that clung to him from Jaskier’s powder-covered skin. 

“Oh yes… like this, more like this…” Jaskier begged, desperate to feel _more_ of Geralt, his craving for the Witcher seemingly insatiable. 

Although it started sleepy and tender, once again they ended up fucking until they were sweaty and out of breath. There seemed to be a pattern already, even though they only spent this one night together. But each time they would touch, they would eventually end up in frenzy. Each time was more intense than the previous one. 

Another bite to the back of Jaskier’s neck, immediately soothed over with a kiss. Jaskier couldn’t get enough of this, his skin tingling in all those spots that Geralt kissed this way. The bed creaked as the Witcher kept thrusting into him, giving him more, giving him what he begged for. Jaskier’s cock, trapped between his stomach and the bed, twitched excitedly. With each thrust it was rubbing against the bed, dripping precum onto the sheets. 

All those sensations make Jaskier see stars, he was already almost at the brink of his release. And he wasn’t sure if this time he will be able to hold back long enough to let Geralt come first. After a moment, it turned out that the Witcher was clearly not so far behind. Jaskier could recognize the way Geralt breathed hotly against his ear, how he would tense each time he pulled his cock back, how he shuddered, when Jaskier’s warm tightness accepted him back in. Oh yes, Geralt was getting close too. Jaskier smirked against the pillows and rolled his hips back teasingly, earning a breathy groan from Geralt.

“Tease…” the Witcher scolded in between moans. And maybe he tried to be all grumpy about it, but all he achieved was making Jaskier laugh breathlessly. 

Geralt snapped his hips harder, to teach the cheeky bard a lesson about teasing. Jaskier let out a delighted whimper, hands gripping onto the bedsheets tightly as Geralt entered him hard and deep. His knuckles turned white, fingers trembling slightly as he held onto the sheets for dear life, his whole body shaking as Geralt pounded into him over and over. 

Jaskier then felt a touch on his right hand, the Witcher’s calloused fingers slipping in between his own. The bard tilted his head to the side to look, pressing his cheek against the pillow. The gesture left him speechless, it was so unexpected. Geralt laced their fingers together and held his hand, their palms now joined, pressed against the bed. 

Geralt’s hold on Jaskier’s hand tightened suddenly, and Jaskier could feel his cock throbbing inside him. He let out a moan when he felt the Witcher’s uneven, hot breathing ghosting over the back of his neck. 

Jaskier rolled his hips back again, teasing further, and silently urging Geralt to hurry and come. He felt so close too, and even though he wished this could last, the familiar warm tingling in the pit of his stomach was too overwhelming. He wanted to feel this powerful dizziness shake through his body again.

Those few last thrusts Geralt settled himself deep inside Jaskier, relishing in the feeling of his tight body accepting him fully. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead between Jaskier’s shoulder blades. He felt the bard’s thumb gently caress over the skin of his palm, their hands still joined. This, frankly scary and foreign, feeling of closeness, tipped Geralt over the edge. 

He came inside Jaskier, surprised that he even had anything left to fill him with. His cock twitched as he released, rocking his hips still. He could feel Jaskier’s body quivering around him, squeezing every last drop out of him.

Jaskier soon cried out weakly, groaning into the pillow, body shaking in exhaustion. He came too, spilling himself onto the bedsheets, the sticky mess smearing over his stomach as Geralt kept pounding him into the bed. 

They moved together, bodies arching and shuddering, until it became almost painful to keep going. Jaskier’s cock softened, finally satisfied, and he rested heaving against the bed, unable to move a muscle. Geralt stayed inside him until he somehow caught his breath. By that time he was almost completely soft too, and he slipped out of Jaskier when he shifted on his arms slightly, not to crush the bard with his weight. 

Jaskier’s eyes were closed, his breath slowly calming down. He felt the bed dip in slightly next to him, and knew that Geralt rested there. He could no longer feel the Witcher’s hand against his own, so he blindly reached out to feel for it. He soon touched Geralt’s rough, big palm, and took it gently. Surprised, moments later Jaskier felt Geralt’s lips against his hand. He opened his eyes to see the Witcher holding his palm gently to his mouth, pressing kisses. 

Jaskier lost track of time. He didn’t care. He wanted to just lie there, next to the Witcher, for hours on end. His eyelids felt heavy… they barely slept that night after all. And the way Geralt kissed his hand was so comforting… 

This moment, that Jaskier would later recall as one of the happiest in his life, was brutally interrupted by a knock to his bedroom door. 

“Jaskier?” a voice of one of his female co-workers came from the other side of the door. “Are you awake? Come on down for breakfast.” she said, knocking casually one more time to ensure that he would wake up, in case if asleep, and then they could hear footsteps as she herself walked downstairs. 

Geralt abruptly let go of Jaskier’s hand and sat up on the bed. The moment was gone, and the realization caused physical aching in the bard’s chest. 

“Hmm…” the Witcher grunted. “How late is it? If they call you downstairs they must think I’ve already left.”

Jaskier sighed, still barely able to accept that their time together was over. He pushed himself to sit up with some effort. His body was all sore and aching. “Must be around 9. We eat around that time…” he replied quietly. 

And just like that, Geralt was getting up, looking around for his clothes, putting them on. Jaskier ran a hand through his messy hair, scooting to the edge of he bed, hanging his feet down. He observed the Witcher as he wandered around the room, dressing himself up. All of a sudden, Jaskier didn’t know what to say. They felt so close just moments ago, as if they could communicate without words, and now… now Geralt turned to a stranger. 

The Witcher was doing it deliberately. He was walking through the room in a way where his back would be turned to Jaskier, and he seemed to focus completely on gathering his clothes. He was shivering slightly, and he hoped the bard won’t see it. But he was… shaken. There was no other way to describe it. Geralt was terrified by the things he felt. Because he too couldn’t get enough of Jaskier that night, he too found comfort in their kissing, in the touch of Jaskier’s hand, in the way he caressed his hair, how he held onto him, and whispered his name.

And Geralt knew this was hopeless, Jaskier was his just for the night, and later tonight he will give himself to someone else. And it’s not like it was Geralt’s first time in a brothel. But it was his first time feeling in such way as he was about to leave. He didn’t understand that… he didn’t understand those feelings, and frankly, he didn’t want to. This was just… something too complicated for him. He decided to bury this in the back of his head, and not let it mess with him.

“So…” Jaskier’s voice brought him back from the spiraling trail of thoughts. “How long are you staying in Novigrad? Because, um, I will be singing again tonight. Maybe you would want to come see me perform?”

“I…” Geralt hummed, pulling on his trousers, then struggling with boots. “Sorry, I… actually only came here for one day. I need to find an armorer to fix some things for me, restock on supplies… and then I need to be on the road again. I took a job near Oxenfurt, so I was really just… passing through here.” he explained himself awkwardly. 

“Right… yeah, I understand.” Jaskier replied in the same awkward manner. As if there were some things unsaid between them. The air was heavy between words. “Well then… come back to Novigrad soon… I mean, when you can… and come see me perform then. I did promise you, that by the next time you visit everyone in the city will be singing songs about your adventures.” he added, forcing his tone of voice to be somewhat cheerful. 

Geralt buttoned up his shirt, and was now putting on his chest armor. “I don’t know if I will be able to afford coming to _Flowers of Four Kingdoms_ again. Last night someone else paid for my expenses, as a form of payment for my services. You said it yourself, I’m the first Witcher that came here… we don’t make enough money killing monsters to afford such high-end places.” Even as he was saying it Geralt could already feel just how dismissive it sounded. He fully expected Jaskier to throw him out.

Jaskier’s face tensed, and there was an edge to his voice as he spoke. “I will give you a damn discount. Come on, Geralt… it’s not a big deal, just come over to hear me sing next time you’re in the city.” he said it in a way that made Geralt look at him at last. 

Their eyes met, and for a brief moment this feeling of communicating without words was back. Geralt nodded, as if repenting his offhand behaviour. There was no reason for him to treat Jaskier like that. “I will… of course I will. Next time I’m in Novigrad.” he promised.

Yes, next time he will come here… everything will be back to normal, he was sure. He will forget, shake it off. That was just sex that he had paid for, nothing to dwell on.

Except it wasn’t just that, and Geralt knew that already. He just didn’t want to admit it.

Finally, fully dressed, Geralt stood by the door. “Hmm… yes. Those ballads about me… they better be any good. I will have new stories for you then too.” he hummed, attempting to sound light-hearted, not sure what else to say. Why was the atmosphere around them so heavy again? Just moments earlier they were so close, like one organism, and now… the air in the room felt cold, and they couldn't be more far away.

Jaskier crawled out of the bed, grabbing a long, silky robe, and wrapping it around himself. He took a couple steps towards Geralt, but then stopped, and they just stared at each other for a moment. Neither of them knew what they were expecting to happen. Jaskier broke the silence first. “You better go before Favindel sees all those bruises you left on me. He may want to charge you extra.” he said, half-joking, hugging the robe around himself. 

Geralt smirked slightly, a bit nervously.

“Don’t worry, scars are part of the job, right?” Jaskier quickly reassured him, and held a smile until the Witcher disappeared behind the door. But once he left, Jaskier stopped smiling. 

He stood there, in the middle of the room, staring at the door, and half-hoping that Geralt will come back. What for? Jaskier wasn’t sure. But what he knew for sure was that he couldn’t be the only one that felt this… 

But Geralt didn’t come back. No matter how intensely Jaskier stared at his bedroom door, they didn’t open, and no one came in. The realization sank in. Jaskier walked to the window, pulling the curtains aside. Looking out for a longer moment, he was finally able to see Geralt walking away, and disappearing around the corner. He just left. Just like that. Jaskier tried to be upset about that, but then he realized that he has no right to. He was a prostitute, Geralt bought him for the night, and the night was over. He had no right to stand here and dwell on something that was never real.

After a longer moment, Jaskier finally walked downstairs. His co-workers were all sitting at the tables, eating breakfast. More or less dressed, sleepy, with smeared makeup. Jaskier sat down in one of empty seats, yawning, smiling faintly when he was greeted by others. 

The elf owner, Favindel, came over after a while and set a plate of food in front of Jaskier. He gently took him by the chin, and tilted his head back, examining bruises and hickeys over Jaskier’s neck.

“That Witcher roughed you up a little?” Favindel asked, frowning. “You look pale.”

“I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep too much…” Jaskier replied.

“I would think so.” Favindel chuckled, letting go of the bard’s chin. “But you will be good to sing tonight, right? I already have several tables booked for your performance.”

Jaskier smiled, this time sincerely, and nodded. “Of course. I will sing tonight. That’s why I’m here for.” 

As he sat there and ate, Jaskier glanced around. This place was familiar, it was comfortable, safe. He had roof above his head, warm bed to sleep in, hot meal on the table in front of him. He had people applauding him each night he sang his ballads. 

And yet, for some reason, Jaskier caught himself staring at the door. Hoping Geralt would come back, and take him somewhere… somewhere far… anywhere but here...

to the edge of the world.

The End (?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so... when i first formed this story in my head, i imagined that's how it will end.  
> but it's kind of a sour ending, right? i now think that i don't want to leave things like that.  
> what do you think? do you want me to keep writing? do you want Geralt to come back for Jaskier?  
> drop me a comment and let me know :D i would love to continue


	5. One year later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for such wonderful feedback on my fanfic! I couldn't leave it with such sad ending, so with your encouragement I decided to continue writing <3  
> May I present you: "My name on your lips" part 2 :)  
> I will admit, I really let my sappy and romantic nature run wild <3 but don't worry, there will some more smut too! :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wasn't sure whether I should publish it as a separate fic, or just continue writing here... but then I decided to just keep publishing further chapters here, so that all of you that liked my fic and got it bookmarked etc. could easily find the continuation :)
> 
> VERY IMPORTANT NOTE before you start reading:  
> I don't know if you're aware, but Joey Batey who played Jaskier in Netflix adaptation of The Witcher, sings in an independent band called The Amazing Devil, and they're AMAZING. I'm obsessed with their music, and their lyrics are absolutely wonderful. So from now on, I will be using some of their song lyrics in my fic as 'Jaskier's songs'. And I encourage you to listen to originals! (their full albums are available on Spotify and YouTube).
> 
> In this chapter, I'm quoting their song called "Elsa's Song".  
> You can listen to it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vDN8yYWAZI4  
> All rights reseved -The Amazing Devil (https://theamazingdevil.com)
> 
> Ok without further ado, let's dive back into the story :D

### One year later

➶➶➶

It was almost a year since Geralt had last been to Novigrad. He had been busy. For those past months, he picked up a lot of monster contracts along the way, and he slayed countless drowners, ghouls, nekkers, wyverns, kikimores, and werewolves that were terrorizing towns and villages along his way. Going back to Novigrad just wasn’t something that he could fit into his schedule. Or so he was telling himself.

Because even though, yes, he had a lot of work these days, it was also an undeniable fact that he was deliberately travelling South, farther and farther away from Novigrad. When he left, all those months ago, he immediately went to Oxenfurt, where there was a contract already waiting for him, to get rid of some overgrown centipedes that infested the sewers. And from there, he just kept going South. On purpose. Even as winter came, he didn’t go to wait it out in Kaer Morhen, as he would usually do. Because going to Kaer Morhen would mean returning back North. And if he got closer to Novigrad, he feared he would be tempted to go back there. 

He didn’t want to go back. Or rather, he _wanted_ to, and it terrified him, so he forced himself to be away from this city for as long as possible. He hoped that time will make him forget, that time will smother and kill this tingling warmth that he felt in his chest whenever he remembered… 

But time was passing, and Geralt still couldn’t forget. If anything, it got worse. 

At first, it was just this odd, tugging feeling, like a small aching in his chest. This fluttering in his stomach whenever he heard a random bard sing in a tavern he happened to be currently staying in. The longing that he would feel sometimes, when he lied down for a night’s rest, and his bedding felt just a little too cold, just a little too empty…

Then, it worsened. He could barely look at dandelions out in the field. He would catch himself repeating some details of his travels over in his head, as if to remember them better, as if to be able tell them to someone later.

He tried a few brothels along the way, but he would always be left unsatisfied, whether the sex was good, or just mediocre, it didn’t matter. What was wrong with him? Geralt didn’t know. And that was scary. Because he couldn’t understand, how one night, a single night, could mess with his head like that. He couldn’t name the things he was feeling, and it was pissing him off. It was so frustrating, to have all of that running through his head, and not be able to call it any other name than ‘nonsense’. 

Witchers weren't supposed to feel at all. 

Geralt had always thought that he was blessed with being different. He thought that feeling compassion and sympathy was good for his moral compass, made his judgement better. That not being indifferent to people’s suffering and injustice was something he could be proud of.

But now Geralt wished he could just not feel. Nothing at all. That he could shrug it all off, just get up on Roach, ride away, and forget. Just focus on cutting off monsters’ heads, on blood splattering onto him, on coin that he would get after, along with maybe a couple grateful words from villagers. Well, he wasn’t like that. And he had to deal with it. So far, he was dealing poorly. 

Eventually, to keep going South stopped making sense. The closer he got to Toussaint the harder it was to find a job. Local knights were dealing with most problems just fine by themselves, so there wasn’t really a need for a Witcher’s services. At some point, Geralt had to admit that he was deliberately trying to stay away from Novigrad. This was ridiculous, and it really pissed him off. He decided he needs to stop acting like a hot-headed youngster, and just stop running away. Because if he was running away, it meant that there was _something_ to run away from. 

And there wasn’t. _That_ was _nothing_. It was one night. Nothing more.

As if out of spite, and to prove himself that it was _obviously nothing_ , Geralt eventually turned back, and continued his travels wherever the new contracts would lead him. 

And for quite some time, to Geralt’s content, he had a lot of work in regions of White Orchard, and Eastern Velen. He spent the entire spring there, and first half of the summer as well. Novigrad just never seemed to be a destination on his map, and he was glad about that. Now he didn’t feel like a fool for escaping on purpose, now he could push the whole responsibility onto… wrong stars alignment, or just dumb luck. 

But then, one midsummer day, Geralt was reminded that he should not be toying with destiny. 

➶➶➶

There was a basilisk causing havoc in the village of Lindenvale. It started with some sheep and geese disappearing, then it escalated to small children, and eventually the beast attacked a group of villagers coming back from working in the fields. It killed local innkeeper and his wife, and was since then almost freely roaming in the area. 

Geralt heard about this while passing through Crow’s Perch, and immediately headed down to Lindenvale, hoping to make some money on slaying the troublesome basilisk. He did manage to kill the beast, and delivered its head to the villagers, but was then informed that they have nothing to pay him with.

“Master Witcher, please forgive...” one of the elder men in the village spoke, “We live in poverty, and this beast made things even worse for us. It ate our flock, destroyed several houses… we will be lucky if we will manage to rebuild and restock until next winter. We really don’t have anything to pay you with…” the man explained. The villagers were fearful. They heard stories, cruel tales about Witchers. If they don’t have any money, what if the Witcher will want something else as a payment? A child perhaps, or a maiden? And if they won’t pay him, will he hex them, bring more plagues onto them?

Suddenly, one of the peasants exclaimed loudly, having think of something that could save them from such fate. “I know!” he said, raising a finger. “The innkeeper’s wife! She was killed by the beast, sadly, _but_ she had a brother who works as a blacksmith in Novigrad. We have already sent a letter to inform him of his sister’s passing. Master Witcher, if you bring him the head of the beast that killed his sister, I am sure he will reward you!” 

And so, with the basilisk’s head attached to Roach’s saddle, Geralt headed to Novigrad at last. He tried to stay away, he tried to run, he tried to forget. But destiny remembered. 

❀❀❀

The place was full, all tables booked for tonight. Favindel, the elf owner of _Flowers of Four Kingdoms_ , was already calculating profits for the week ahead. Each night that there was a music performance in his tavern, he would make a small fortune. It seemed tonight will be no different. As he polished a wine glass, he observed with content how customers filled the room, and took their seats. They ordered food and drinks, and were also already eyeing some of the women and men that could became their company for the night. Yes, Favindel’s business was thriving. 

The lights were dim, the atmosphere full of anticipation. Conversations were quiet, everyone impatient and excited. Finally, an applause, loud cheering, guests standing up from their seats. The performance was about to begin.

Jaskier walked onto the stage, gracing everyone with a radiant smile. His head was donned with flowers, he waved and bowed gracefully. The crowd adored him. And he adored them. Those were the happiest moments in his life... when he would hear titles of his ballads shouted from the audience, the guests wanting to hear specific songs that they already knew by heart, but could never get enough of. 

He sat down on a stool in the middle of the stage, crossed his legs, and propped his lute against his knee. Someone from the crowd whistled, and Jaskier winked playfully, accepting the compliment.

But all the commotion fell silent when Jaskier’s fingers touched the strings of the lute, and he began singing.

_I can hear the cannons calling_

_As though across a dream_

_And I can smell the smoke of hell_

_In every stitch and seam_

_And like flowers, the bodies tumble_

_Around this muddied lot_

_I cannot hear them scream_

_‘Forget me not.’_

Everyone listened intently, not daring to disturb even with a slightest cough, or clinking of glasses full of wine and ale. When Jaskier sang, it seemed that the world stopped to listen.

_Your voice it carries over_

_The hubbub and the hum_

_And it paints the sky and circles high_

_Like the beating of a drum_

_You will scream ‘I won’t forget you’_

_But I’ll cover my cold ears_

_It cannot be a lie_

_If no-one hears._

Jaskier’s ballads were always especially beautiful, and he himself was standing out above other poets and minstrels. With his undeniably remarkable voice, his charm, and talent to make up a song on a spot, he was the city’s favourite. But lately, for the past few months, it seemed that he had even outdone himself. The songs he would sing now seemed more intimate, full of strange melancholy, and yet so beautiful that often even the toughest men in the audience were seen discreetly wiping their tears.

_Cause although you say good day to me_

_I know I don’t belong_

_And although you hold my hand and say_

_‘I love you’, you are wrong._

_Because love does not exist here_

_In this garden there’s no feeling_

_And you say the words so often_

_That I barely know the meaning_

With Jaskier’s general flirtatious aura, and his delightful personality, one would think it was obvious that his ballads were always about love. But lately, his ballads grew, became more captivating, and it seemed he had endless inspiration. 

Ever since that night, almost a year ago, the memory of Geralt fueled Jaskier’s talent, and he wrote dozens of love songs filled with this quiet longing, and sweet heartbreak, that his audience so adored. 

_And when all the flowers are rotten_

_And all the cannons shot_

_I’ll scream, but you won’t hear_

_‘Forget me not’_

Jaskier’s voice faltered for a brief moment, but no one seemed to notice. As he was looking down at his lute, focusing on playing right accords, no one could see that his eyes were glazed over, hidden behind his long lashes.

_And in years to come you’ll wander_

_To the place up on our hill_

_And then you’ll cry to our painted sky_

_‘I loved him then, I love him still’._

_And you’ll strew some sage and lilies ,_

_And roses where I rot_

_Of all the flowers you picked,_

_I knew you would forget_

_Forget-me-nots._

With that last sound, the silence in the room shattered, and the audience exploded with applause. Jaskier turned his head for a moment, pressing the sleeve of his tunic to his eyes to quickly dry them. He sniffled quietly, then turned to face the audience with a bright smile. He waved, bowed, picked flowers that landed at his feet. 

Before leaving the stage, Jaskier took one last glance at the crowd gathered before him. His eyes scanned the faces, looking for _the one_ , but he was not there. He was never there. But still, whenever Jaskier sang, he only sang for _him_. 

❀❀❀

The first couple months Jaskier waited, excited and hopeful. Geralt said he will come visit again, next time he’s in Novigrad. How long could it take for him to come back? It will probably be a few weeks, three months at most… he will get a job here, or will need to come by to restock or fix his armour, or buy a new sword. Everyone knew that Novigrad had the best traders, merchants, and craftsmen, from all around the world. Soon enough, Geralt will come here again, for whatever reason, and he will visit him…

That’s what Jaskier thought at first. And he waited.

He was writing poems and songs, dozens of them. All it took was to remind himself of the night he spent with Geralt, and ideas would spill from him endlessly. He couldn’t wait for Geralt to come back and hear them all… songs about his adventures, heroic acts, faraway lands and fantastic monsters. But also those more intimate songs, about how it felt when they touched, how Jaskier missed his lips, how he longed to once again be in his arms.

But weeks passed, then months, and Geralt wasn’t coming back. Autumn turned to winter, then winter to spring. Months passed, and Jaskier’s songs turned sour. As he sang about longing and loss, broken hearts and promises, he still looked into the crowd, but no longer believed he will ever spot the familiar face. 

Half the time Jaskier was on stage, he felt embarrassed. He wrote all those songs for a man that simply got up and left, and went his merry way without looking back. Wasn’t that just pathetic? 

Off the stage it wasn’t much better either. He couldn’t focus on conversations with his customers, no one seemed interesting to him anymore. He used to be so open and confident, always flirting and having fun with it. Now it all felt half-hearted, dishonest. But he kept up a brave front, kept smiling, swaying his hips, sitting on client’s laps, and making a lot of money for Favindel. He was everyone’s favourite, and yet, he would trade them all for one Witcher. 

❀❀❀

All those thoughts and memories swirled in Jaskier’s head as he was walking off the stage, after yet another sucessful performance. He fanned himself with his hand, light layer of perspiration was covering his skin. It was a very hot summer afternoon, and the place was so crowded… Jaskier wished he could go upstairs and take a bath. But then he noticed that Favindel was gesturing at him to come over to the bar. 

“Jaskier, there you are.” the elf hummed as he walked over. “This gentleman would like to pay for a private show.” he spoke suggestively.

Indeed there was a nobleman standing next to the bar, and next to him, on the counter, there was a leather satchel full of coins. Jaskier put on his sweetest smile, leaning against the counter. Eyes hooded slightly, lips parted, playful smirk… he made it look like he couldn’t be happier that this customer picked him. He placed a hand over the man’s forearm, tracing circles with his thumb. 

“In that case, the gentleman should go with me to my room upstairs. No one will bother us there, and it will be… _very private_.” Jaskier purred, spreading his charm. 

The man paid Favindel, and then proceeded upstairs as Jaskier suggested. Before Jaskier could follow, the elven bartender stopped him briefly.

“Jaskier, that guy paid for two hours. Make sure to pay attention to the time, because after this client, we have another show scheduled. All tables booked as usual.” Favindel said to him quietly. “And don’t let him rough you up too much… you need to look good on stage.”

Jaskier frowned a little, putting his hands on his hips. “If this is such a problem, why won’t you let me work on the stage exclusively? I’m popular enough. Why do you keep making me work in the bedroom as well?” 

“Because, darling, with you on the stage, _and_ in the bedroom, I am making twice the money. And quite a fraction of _Flowers’_ weekly income goes into your own pocket as well.” the elf replied in a tone which indicated that further discussion is futile. 

Jaskier rolled his eyes, and looked towards the stairs. He couldn’t really argue with that. “Fine. I will be back down in two hours.” He then put on his signature smile once again, and followed his client upstairs to his room. 

  
  


➶➶➶

Geralt found the backsmith in his workshop at the Hierarch Square in Novigrad. The city centre was buzzing with life. Shops, street vendors, fortune tellers, merchants, craftsmen, artists, beggars, drunks… everything was loud, crowded and colourful. At first no one seemed to be paying any attention to him. 

“Are you Zdravko, the blacksmith?” Geralt asked, approaching the man who worked outside. 

There was a huge anvil in front of his shop, and Zdravko the blacksmith was swinging a massive hammer, shaping a red hot piece of iron. He looked up, wiping a sweat off his forehead.

“Depends… who’s asking?” 

Geralt tossed basilisk’s head onto the paved ground. As it fell by Zdravko’s feet, it splashed some blood, making a wet sound. Flies buzzed, finding the carcass quickly. “I’m a Witcher. I killed the basilisk who caused the death of your sister and brother-in-law in Lindenvale.” Geralt said. “People in the village told me that you may be able to reward me for getting rid of it.”

Zdravko looked down at the basilisk’s severed head with mouth gaping open. “As I live and breathe… a Witcher… _the_ Witcher.” he mumbled, looking up at Geralt then. 

Within moments, other shopkeepers and even random pedestrians started gathering around the blacksmith’s workshop, curiously looking at the basilisk’s head, and at the Witcher. They whispered to each other, pointing at the beast’s head, then at Geralt.

Geralt felt strange. It wasn’t the first time that people stared at him, nor the first time they pointed fingers at him. But this time… it felt different? Almost like he was a circus attraction or something.

Suddenly, Zdravko clapped his hands and laughed loudly. He kept clapping, as if in a rhythm. Others soon joined him, everyone was clapping in the same upbeat rhythm. Geralt looked around, honestly astounded. And then, everyone started singing.

_Toss a coin to your Witcher_

_O Valley of Plenty!_

_O Valley of Plenty! oo-oh!_

_Toss a coin to your Witcher_

_O Valley of Plenty!_

And indeed they tossed. Someone out of the crowd just grabbed Geralt’s hand and put a couple coins in it. Others soon followed. Geralt stood there, more and more confused, as those people were singing around him and pushing money into his hands.

_Toss a coin to your Witcher_

_O Valley of Plenty!_

_O Valley of Plenty! oo-oh!_

_Toss a coin to your Witcher_

_A friend of humanity!_

_Toss a coin to your Witcher_

_O Valley of Plenty!_

_O Valley of Plenty! oo-oh!_

_Toss a coin to your Witcher_

_A friend of humanity!_

By the time they finished singing, Geralt was holding a handful of gold coins, and had people patting his back in a friendly way. He has seen some strange things during his time on the road, but this occurrence was by far the strangest yet. 

“What… is going on here?” Geralt raised his brows, and looked over at Zdravko, seeking some explanation as to what just happened. 

“You’re Geralt of Rivia, are you not?” Zdravko replied with a question of his own. “Just like in the song! Amazing! So it is all true! You just go out there and kill those beasts, no mercy!” the blacksmith laughed. 

“This song… how do you know it?” Geralt questioned, his chest tightening suddenly. 

“Don’t joke around, Master Witcher!” Zdravko exclaimed. “Everyone knows it! It’s Jaskier’s song, after all, and he’s the best poet in the whole Novigrad.”

Well, he promised. He promised that by the next time Geralt visits Novigrad everyone will know his name, and everyone will sing about his adventures.

Damn, he really did it. 

➶❀➶

It was just as he remembered it. Thick colourful carpets, marble statues, warm golden light of candles and lanterns hanging at the ceiling. Men and women dressed in expensive silks and laces, their skin dusted with glittery powder, sparkling with every movement. Scent of perfume and sweet wine in the air. 

_Flowers of Four Kingdoms_ , the most luxurious brothel in Novigrad.

 _Fuck_ … Geralt just realized that he once again came here straight from the road. He didn’t fit in. He looked down at his muddy shoes on the carpet… it was as if he was reliving the same scenario all over again.

But this time, the bartender knew his name, and once he spotted him, he called out.

“Geralt! Long time no see!” Favindel greeted him, inviting him over to the bar. “What brings you back to Novigrad?” Without even asking, the elf started pouring him ale. Not that Geralt complained.

“Hmm… business, I suppose.” Geralt hummed. He couldn’t really focus on Favindel’s words, as he was scanning the room with his cat-like eyes, looking for even a glimpse of yellow buttercups and dandelions. 

“Jaskier is upstairs with a client.” the elf said suddenly, as if reading the Witcher’s mind, and loudly placed the ale cup on the counter in front of him.

Geralt looked at him, feeling a strange pang of… _irritation…_ in his gut.

“You came to see him, right?” Favindel stated the obvious in reply to Geralt’s slightly puzzled expression. “You can sit down and drink for now, the client still has around half an hour.”

Geralt nodded. Well, he had quite a lot of coins on him now, that he got from the people on the Hierarch Square, so he could afford having some ale while he waited. He grabbed the cup and went to sit down in the corner. His eyes immediately focused on the stairs. And… he waited. His stomach, for some reason, was in knots, twisting and turning as he tried to fight the intrusive thought away, the thought of Jaskier serving a client in that very moment.

It seemed like forever. Music and conversations around him merged into white noise. Why was it taking so long? His throat felt dry so Geralt finished his ale way too quickly. It now dawned on him that he had no idea what he even wanted to say to Jaskier. He had no idea what he was doing here at all. 

After he delivered the basilisk’s head to Zdravko the blacksmith, and people on the Hierarch Square basically applauded him, pushing money into his hands and singing Jaskier’s apparently famous song, he was completely confused. Someone approached him, and offered him a fair price for a room in their Inn, and Geralt accepted. The innkeeper seemed excited to host such ‘prominent guest’, as he called him. And Geralt felt he has Jaskier’s song to thank for all of this, the money, the generosity and kindness that people treated him with all of a sudden. The fact that he felt welcomed.

So he just had to come here straight away. It was an instinct. Perhaps this need was being harvested deep inside Geralt for a while. And now he just couldn’t ignore it anymore. Without even thinking twice, after months of running away, he ran back just as fast. 

A movement on the stairs caught his attention. A man was walking down nonchalantly, this annoying, satisfied smirk on his face. Geralt’s eyes were throwing daggers. Moments later, Favindel walked over to his table to take away the empty cup. “That was Jaskier’s client.” the elf confirmed. “You can go upstairs and see him now. But he’s got a performance soon, so don’t keep him too long. You can buy more of his time later, if you’ve got enough coin.”

Without a word, Geralt stood up slowly, and headed upstairs. There was a lump in his throat. 

He went up to the second floor, and towards the door at the end of the hallway. A moment of hesitation, and then he knocked. There was no answer for agonizingly long time. So Geralt knocked again, and this time pushed the door open slightly, peeking inside. 

Jaskier was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, his back turned towards the door. He was naked, the graceful line of his back, his fair skin, everything was just like Geralt remembered it. His hair was messy, and there was a tattered flower crown abandoned on the floor. Jaskier was holding a wet, cool cloth to the inside of his thigh. 

At the sound of door opening, he groaned. “Favindel, give me two damn minutes before you pull me up on the stage. That last client bit me, and I need to clean up a little too…” Jaskier complained, mistakenly thinking that it was the bartender who came to fetch him for his performance. He hissed in discomfort as he gently patted the cool, soothing cloth against the bite mark on his thigh. 

“If it’s not a good time, I can come back sometime later…” Geralt spoke.

At the sound of his voice, Jaskier froze. There was a second of hesitation, as if he was afraid that if he looks, it will turn out that he had just misheard, that it’s not true. But of course he couldn't stop himself for longer than a mere second. He turned around, and Geralt stood in the doorway, flesh and blood.

“Geralt…” Jaskier breathed, tingling sensation rushing through his entire body. It made him dizzy. But he managed to scramble up to his feet, suddenly getting really flustered. He grabbed a robe, and covered himself up, making sure to hide the bruise shaped like teeth-marks on his thigh. He ran a hand through his hair to smooth it down a bit. His cheeks flushed, and he just felt… so exposed. Instead of being seen in all the glory and splendor on stage, singing one of his new ballads while the audience cheers, Jaskier’s first encounter with Geralt, after all this time, turned out to be… like this.

It was humiliating. 

And yet, he just couldn’t help but smile. Despite this moment not being perfect and spectacular, like he had imagined, despite feeling embarrassed, Jaskier also felt just pure joy in his heart. He mastered putting up a cheerful front, but this time he didn’t have to. When he smiled, it was sincere. When he walked those few steps towards Geralt, and stood in front of him, air around them electrified. When he finally took the Witcher’s hand, big, dirty, calloused, so oddly rough in his own delicate palm, he felt relieved. 

Geralt came back.

“It’s been so long.” Jaskier said quietly. 

“Almost a year.” Geralt agreed. 

_“You haven’t changed.”_ that last sentence they spoke almost simultaneously, and this broke the ice, making them laugh a little. 

Geralt relaxed. It was true, Jaskier hasn’t changed one bit. He was still so beautiful and radiant, a presence that brightens the room. His eyes, shimmering grey, like storm clouds, looked back at him with the same intensity, reflecting the smile that played on his lips. Geralt had to ask himself not why he had waited so long to come back, but why had he ever left in the first place. 

“I’m sorry, come in, sit down....” Jaskier realized that they just kept standing in the doorway, and he smiled apologetically, pulling Geralt further into the room. To hold his hand again felt wonderful. It felt exactly the same like back then… warm, safe, grounding. 

Jaskier had to quickly straighten the covers on the bed, clearing his throat nervously. He felt something very much resembling guilt when Geralt had to sit down on the same bedsheets in which he served a client just minutes before. But Geralt didn’t say anything. He politely pretended not to look at the messy bedsheets, at the crumpled flowers on the floor, at the bruised bite mark on Jaskier’s thigh. But Jaskier knew he looked.

“I… I only have a few minutes though, I’m about to give a performance downstairs.” Jaskier explained himself. “You must stay to hear me sing. Favindel says he had booked all the tables, but I’m sure he will find you a spot. You’ll be a guest of honour, so to speak.” he offered, walking over to the wardrobe. He started to dress himself up, to feel at least a little less embarrassed about the disorderly state that Geralt saw him in. 

“That’s actually the reason why I’m here.” Geralt hummed. “I wanted to thank you.”

Jaskier closed the wardrobe door, appearing in front of the Witcher fully clothed this time. He wore light blue breeches and white, wide-sleeved shirt. Surprisingly modest and non-revealing choice for him, but he clearly chose it to hide the mark on his thigh during the performance on stage. 

“Thank me? For what…? Wait…” Jaskier grinned suddenly, a happy little glimmer appearing in his eyes. “Have you heard it already…?”

Geralt couldn’t help but smirk a little when he saw just how excited and proud Jaskier was. “I have.” he nodded. “A monster killed local blacksmith’s sister. I brought him the beast’s head today and suddenly I had the entire Hierarch Square singing and tossing coins at me. They all knew this song by heart, they knew my name, owner of Seven Cats Inn offered me a room… people were actually excited to meet me. That has never happened to me before.”

Jaskier was ecstatic. “I told you! Didn’t I tell you? I told you everyone will love ballads about your adventures! And you said no one will want to listen to songs about a Witcher, remember?” he sighed, reminiscing their previous meeting. “I will sing it tonight too… for you.” he promised, sitting down at the edge of the bed, next to Geralt. 

He wanted to say more. He wanted to tell the Witcher about all the other ballads that he wrote since their first and last night together. He wanted to tell him that he couldn’t stop thinking about him even when he was with other men, and that he sang his heart out every night. But before he could muster up the courage to say anything, knock on the door interrupted them. 

“Jaskier! The place is full, everyone's waiting!” the elven bartender called out. “I need you downstairs in five minutes.” 

Jaskier sighed, taking Geralt’s hand gently and giving it a light squeeze. “Go sit in the audience. We will talk later.” 

As Geralt was already on his way out, Jaskier finally got brave enough to stop him by the door for one more moment. He placed his hands on the Witcher’s shoulders, tip-toed a little, and pressed a quick, tender kiss to Geralt’s lips. “I will be singing only for you tonight.” he promised in a whisper. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to another ultra-romantic and sappy chapter ;D but don't worry smut-fans, i will have something for you very soon too <3
> 
> OK, in this chapter i am quoting lyrics of two songs by the band The Amazing Devil (seriously listen to them, I love them, and Joey Batey's voice is out of this world <3 he was the perfect choice for Jaskier seriously, LEGIT EXCELLENT casting job).
> 
> songs in this chapter are:  
> * 'Wild Blue Yonder' (listen to it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q9yBzW6NgzM)  
> ** 'Fair' (listen to it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2mBVP9Z_sac)
> 
> ALL RIGHTS RESERVED - The Amazing Devil (https://theamazingdevil.com)
> 
> OKAAAY let's roll back into this story <3 drop me a comment if you like my work :D

➶❀➶

_Jaskier placed his hands on the Witcher’s shoulders, tip-toed a little, and pressed a quick, tender kiss to Geralt’s lips. “I will be singing only for you tonight.” he promised in a whisper._

➶❀➶

Favindel complained a little, but he managed to find Geralt a vacant spot in the audience. The place really was packed. Geralt noticed that the crowd seemed to be even bigger than when he was here the last time… seemed like Jaskier got this much more popular. And Geralt would be lying if he said that it didn’t tickle his ego a bit, to think that this was all thanks to a song that Jaskier wrote about _him_. 

Excited whispers rolled through the audience, and Geralt perked up. Jaskier walked down the stairs, waving to greet everyone, and already receiving applause. He managed to fix his flower crown a little, and he wore it on his head proudly now, as his signature look. He was a born showman, spreading his charming smile, and being able to make the audience fall in love with him immediately. 

Jaskier grabbed his lute, playing a couple accords to warm up. He hoped that no one could see how nervous he was… but it was the good kind of nervous. There was this lovely flutter in his stomach, it made him feel all warm. He waited so long…

He looked up, and caught a glimpse of Geralt’s face in the crowd. Their eyes met. It didn’t matter that they barely had a chance to talk tonight. All Jaskier had to say was in his songs. 

➶❀➶

And that night, Jaskier sang his heart out. The entire audience was euphoric, somehow feeling that this performance was special. If possible, Jaskier’s voice seemed more beautiful than ever, it caused chills. 

The first song was lively and upbeat, Jaskier’s fingers moving smoothly over the strings of his lute. The cheeky lyrics were accompanied by his endearing smiles and captivating energy that he had on the stage.

_Let’s hide under the covers_

_We don’t know what’s out there_

_Could be wolves_

_So hold me, lover, like you used to_

_So tight I’d bruise you_

_I’d bruise you, I’d bruise you too_

_I surrender what was, what could have been_

_All those wonders sit in wait for us, we tried_

_Try please try for me_

_Let’s hide under the covers_

_We don’t know what’s out there_

_Could be all our demons darling_

_Hold me, lover, like you used to_

_So tight I’d bruise you_

_I’d bruise you, I’d bruise you too…*_

The song earned Jaskier a really enthusiastic response, cheering and whistling, and even some rather explicit comments shouted from the audience. Jaskier laughed it all up, keeping up his usual lovable, flirtatious demeanor. But his looks would constantly be drawn to Geralt.

And Geralt was already rather flustered. Even through the commotion that other guests were making he could hear his heartbeat loudly in his ears. Having Jaskier’s words in mind, that he sings for him and only him, made this performance rather clear. Without actually speaking to each other, the two got to reminiscent their night together, and relive the craving they felt for each other.

But it wasn’t until the next song that Geralt got really shaken. The next one was a soft, tender ballad, and it wasn’t leaving anything to the imagination. Everything was laid out in the open, nothing left unsaid. Jaskier waited too long for this moment. He needed Geralt to know how he felt, no games, no silly metaphors, no misunderstandings.

_It’s what my heart just yearns to say_

_In ways that can’t be said_

_It’s what my rotting bones will sing_

_When the rest of me is dead_

_It’s what’s engraved upon my heart_

_In letters deeply worn_

_Today I somehow understand the reason I was born_

_It’s not fair, it's not fair how much I love you_

_It’s not fair 'cause you make me ache, you bastard,_

_And he’ll say_

_Oh how, oh how unreasonable_

_How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do_

_I’ll spend my days so close to you 'cause if you’re here_

_I’ll stand here with you…**_

When he stopped playing, he looked directly at Geralt. That was the most serious and sincere face Geralt has ever seen Jaskier have. It was as if the entire audience disappeared for a moment. It was just the two of them. His heart was beating so fast that it almost hurt.

They stared at each other from across the room, until the audience roared with applause, and Jaskier looked away, sending everyone a grateful smile, bowing. Geralt looked around, wondering if anyone noticed the tension between them, but other guests seemed to be blissfully unaware. And for Geralt it seemed so obvious… Jaskier was basically devouring him with his eyes from the stage.

“Thank you, thank you all! You’re an amazing audience, as always.” Jaskier spoke loudly, bowing once again. “But…!” he raised his hand, getting everyone’s attention quickly. They were all under his spell. “...I know _exactly_ what you are here for.” he smiled mischievously. “Everyone’s favourite song…”

He didn’t even have to finish, the crown went mad, clapping and cheering. But once again, Jaskier easily stole their focus back.

“And tonight, we are going to have a very special performance. Because the hero of this story has graced us with his presence tonight. Geralt of Rivia, the Witcher himself, and… my dear friend.” Jaskier announced, gesturing towards Geralt and bringing everyone’s attention to him.

All eyes on him. Geralt felt their gaze piercing him. 

It started with one man, in the back of the room. He started singing the first verse, and others soon joined. Clapping their hands and thumping their feet against the floor, they sang, as if Geralt truly was a fairytale hero to them. 

_Toss a coin to your Witcher_

_O Valley of Plenty!_

_O Valley of Plenty!_

_Toss a coin to your Witcher_

_O Valley of Plenty!_

Jaskier smiled brightly, loving to hear everyone singing along to his ballad. It was such a happy moment for him, that was what he had always wanted… for them to love him for the stories he tells through his songs, for his music, his talent, and not for… 

not for what he later does in the bedroom.

He swallowed, collecting himself quickly. “Yes, you all know the words! Sing with me, tonight especially… for Geralt.” Jaskier bowed towards the Witcher, then held his lute up, and played.

_When a humble bard_

_Graced a ride along_

_With Geralt of Rivia_

_Along came this song,_

_When the White Wolf fought_

_A silver-tongued devil_

_His army of elves_

_At his hooves did they revel..._

With each verse that Jaskier sang, more people joined in, raising their glasses and cups, toasting at Geralt happily. The bard couldn’t help but smile. His ballad was bringing everyone together, the whole room singing along and praising the Witcher. Geralt looked a little confused, definitely not expecting the song, _and himself_ , to be so widely popular… but Jaskier said it will be that way, and he really achieved it. 

_He wiped out your pest_

_Got kicked in his chest_

_He's a friend of humanity_

_So give him the rest_

_That's my epic tale_

_Our champion prevailed_

_Defeated the villain_

_Now pour him some ale_

_Toss a coin to your Witcher_

_O Valley of Plenty!_

_O Valley of Plenty!_

_Toss a coin to your Witcher_

_A friend of humanity!_

That last part was sang several times, the crowd not having enough. They laughed, they cheered, they drank, everyone wanted to come closer and see Geralt, shake his hand. Jaskier’s chest was swelling with joy and pride. He wasn’t able to count how many times those last verses were sang in total, but by the end of it his fingertips hurt from the lute strings. Then, there was almost no end to Jaskier bowing, sending air-kisses at the audience, and receiving presents and flowers from enthusiastic fans. When he finally managed to walk off the stage, Jaskier joined Geralt at his table. He was out of breath, cheeks flushed.

“Wasn’t that amazing?” he laughed happily, leaning against Geralt a little. 

“That was… definitely something. You weren’t exaggerating, it seems that _everyone_ really knows this song. You made me famous… now people don’t look at me like I’m this freak of nature… I’m _the_ Witcher, a heroic protector of humanity.” Geralt replied with an amused smirk. He still could barely believe it. But then again, Jaskier was so talented... was it really so surprising that his ballad became an instant hit? 

“I know! Novigrad loves you.” Jaskier exclaimed. 

“Actually… now that I think about it, I’ve been doing pretty well with money for a while now…” Geralt frowned a bit, thinking intensely. “Yeah, the closer I got to Novigrad for the past couple months, the easier it was for me to find accomodation, and people were paying very generously for my services. I thought that it was just a lucky streak but…”

Jaskier’s eyes grew wide. “Are you serious? The ballad travelled outside of Novigrad already? I knew from the start that your adventures are _perfect_ material.”

“About that… the lyrics indicate that you were participating in those adventures with me. That is not true.” Geralt pointed out.

“Well, I did tell you that I have a very vivid imagination.” Jaskier grinned, putting a finger over his lips. “That was just a publicity stunt, but no one has to know that. All the rest is just like you told me. And everyone loves it, I knew they would…”

They looked at each other, Jaskier still in haze of his performance, Geralt a bit flustered. Despite the silence being comfortable, some things needed to be said. After all, Jaskier basically made a love confession with that previous song. Neither of them could pretend that this didn’t happen.

“Listen, Geralt… we need to talk.” Jaskier began. “I… I really did sing only for you tonight. And, I want you to know that…”

Before he could finish the sentence, Favindel walked over to their table. “Hate to interrupt…” he said, but clearly didn’t care that he _is_ in fact interrupting. “...but Jaskier, you have a customer.” the elf gestured towards a man waiting at the bar.

Jaskier’s face turned red, and he had this sickening feeling in his stomach, the same that he had felt before, when Geralt walked in on him being a mess after a previous client. “Seriously, Favindel… you’ll work me to the bone.” Jaskier complained. 

But Favindel made a face then that was making it pretty clear that there is no point arguing with him. 

“I will be right there…” Jaskier nodded eventually. He looked at Geralt with brows furrowed. “I’m so sorry, Geralt. I really have to go. Um… at least tell me that you’re staying in Novigrad longer than the last time.” 

“Yeah, I was actually planning to stay for a few of days.” the Witcher confirmed, much to Jaskier’s relief. 

“That’s great. So, you said you have a room in Seven Cats Inn? I have a day off tomorrow… I can meet you there around noon, and then we can talk. No one will bother us there.” the bard glanced suggestively towards Favindel, who was back at the bar and reassuring the impatient client that Jaskier will take care of him in a moment. 

“That sounds good. Let’s meet tomorrow.” Geralt agreed. On one hand, he was glad that they won’t have his conversation right away, because he was honestly dreading to have to face his own feelings. That way at least he will have some more time to think this over. However… he could already tell that he had a sleepless night ahead, and that he will torture himself with those thoughts until their next meeting.

Because even now, as Jaskier walked away with the client, Geralt had so many strange feelings boiling inside him. He couldn’t name them, or at least not all of them, not to mention explain them or be able to properly articulate them. But he knew that he, for some reason, really, _really_ didn’t like the fact that Jaskier was going upstairs with this guy. 

There was nothing he could do about it though.

Especially since some very excited men then suddenly joined him at his table, inviting themselves to sit in the empty chairs around Geralt. They started doting over him and asking him if the events of Jaskier’s ballad are true. Geralt had to face his sudden popularity once again. 

➶❀➶

The next day, Jaskier walked through the streets of Novigrad, shielding his eyes from the harsh sun with his hand. Dressed in knee-high, brown leather boots, light blue breeches, white shirt with frilly collar, and a matching light blue jacket, he looked different than his silk-clad, seductive self that Geralt knew from _Flowers of Four Kingdoms_. And yet, he somehow looked even more charming. He had his trusty lute with himself, as always, hanging over his back on a decorative, embroidered strap. 

It was another hot, summer day. The sky was bright blue, not a single cloud. Working today would be dreadful, so that was another reason to be grateful for a day off. Main reason, obviously, was that he was going to meet Geralt, and hopefully clear the air around them.

He had almost a year to think of what he wanted to tell him. He wrote dozens of songs that were spilling his heart out. So no, Jaskier wasn’t at loss with words. He knew exactly what he felt, and what to say. The thing was… he had absolutely no idea what kind of reaction to expect from Geralt. 

He got to Seven Cats Inn with no time to spare, just when noon striked on the clock up on the town hall tower. Geralt was already waiting, sitting at one of the tables. Jaskier smiled when he saw him, and gestured towards the bartender to pour him some wine. He needed some liquid courage. 

As he sat down at the table, Geralt noted how the colour of Jaskier’s clothing complimented his light-grey eyes. Despite being dressed far more modest than the previous times Geralt saw him, he looked even more handsome. There were no silly accessories like flower crowns or glittery powder this time. Geralt liked this version of Jaskier even more.

They barely had a chance to start talking, when some other guests in the Inn recognized Jaskier. And they recognized Geralt too. The popularity of Jaskier’s ballad was insane. Even as he walked here, he had strangers acknowledging him on the street, pointing. He was a somewhat well-known persona before too, but it was mostly limited to guests of his brothel. Now, it seemed whenever he went, people knew his name.

What started as a friendly chat with fans, questions to Geralt about whether the stories about him are true, and even giving some autographs; ended with the male guests groping Jaskier and asking if he works in _Flowers_ tonight. 

“Not tonight, but I will be working tomorrow…” Jaskier replied, smiling, flirting. He needed to be polite, he had a reputation to maintain. Now more than ever. But those guys didn’t look like they had a lot of coins, so Jaskier knew that most probably Favindel won’t even let them past the front door. 

When the men finally left them alone, Geralt looked annoyed. Not all aspects of popularity were pleasant, apparently. Not only he was getting kind of tired of not being able to have five minutes alone, because there was constantly someone recognizing him and trying to talk to him; but also now, as if he wasn’t nervous enough, his conversation with Jaskier was being interrupted. 

“Maybe… maybe we should get out of the city. Where there is less… crowded.” Geralt suggested in a grunt. 

“Ohh, are you taking me on an adventure?” Jaskier perked up excitedly. “That would be absolutely fantastic. Who knows, maybe it will result in a brand new ballad?” He was clearly giddy, the prospect of going out of Novigrad with Geralt was very tempting. And the Witcher was right, they needed to be able to talk alone, in private. 

“We are just going to go outside of the city walls… it’s not an adventure.” Geralt pointed out, but nothing could subside Jaskier’s enthusiasm at this point. 

They left the Inn, and headed to the stables where Geralt kept his horse overnight. The Witcher pulled her out by the reins, fixing the saddle on her back quickly. “This is Roach.” he introduced.

“Hi Roach! Aren’t you a pretty girl... “ Jaskier reached out with his hand, and let Roach sniff it for a moment, before he put his palm gently over her muzzle. “Yeah, so pretty…” he stroked up the horse’s head slowly. Roach let out a soft neigh, bending her head forward. It seemed she accepted Jaskier’s gentle treatment. 

Geralt pulled himself up onto Roach’s back, then helped Jaskier up as well. The bard settled behind Geralt’s, pressing himself against his broad back. Granted, there wasn’t really any other way to sit on the horse together comfortably. But it was much to Jaskier’s content, as he was able to wrap his arms around Geralt’s waist, and he held onto him as they slowly rode along the paved road. 

Roach’s hooves clicked rhythmically against the pavement. Jaskier leaned his head against Geralt’s back. As he inhaled, he smelled the earthy scent of leather, and heavy, musky scent of Geralt himself. It made his stomach flutter. Geralt didn’t have his armour on today, just a black shirt, leather pants, buckled shoes. He looked and smelled primal, natural. Jaskier’s hair stood on end. 

They left Novigrad through the Oxenfurt Gate, and headed further outside of the city walls. Before them, vast world opened. Dusty road, small peasant houses here and there, bushes and tall grass with crickets chirping loudly. It instantly felt so much more peaceful.

Jaskier tightened his hold around Geralt, as if giving him a hug. Geralt just cleared his throat, grunted a command at Roach, and squeezed her sides with his heels. Roach picked up her pace, going into a lively trot, and after a moment, a gallop. 

They left Novigrad far behind.

➶❀➶

They rode until the city faded into the distance. Despite the raging popularity of himself and his ballads, Jaskier welcomed the feeling of be away from it all. Fresh air, sound of the wind in the leaves, him and Geralt… he had waited whole year for this. 

They stranded from the main road, and Roach carried them into a slightly wooded area. Even the tallest towers of Novigrad were now hidden behind the trees. _They_ were hidden too. It was such a peaceful, secluded place. It felt so freeing. 

There was a small brook, its clear waters washing over smooth, round rocks on the shore. Flowers grew on each side, undisturbed, wild. Cornflowers, poppies, dandelions, buttercups. Birds were singing in the trees, softly, lazily. Butterflies fluttering, beetles buzzing in the sun. It was the simplest, most common place on earth. But for Jaskier, it was the most perfect.

Geralt stopped there, and slid off the horse. He tossed Roach’s reins over a low tree branch, and patted her side gently. Jaskier followed, hopping off Roach’s back and stretching his legs. There was a small, makeshift wooden bridge connecting both sides of the brook, and Geralt walked over there. He sat down, hanging his legs down from the bridge. 

“Here is good.” the Witcher announced. 

Jaskier picked up a bright blue cornflower, and put it behind his ear. He smiled, taking in all the sounds of nature, the sun, the calm feeling that filled his chest. This entire time, he was wrong… Novigrad, the brothel, the money… it wasn’t worth it. He thought he was doing the right thing, he thought he knew what he wanted. 

But what he really wanted was _this_. To be out here, with Geralt, to feel… like this. 

He walked over to the bridge and sat down next to Geralt, looking down at the crystal clear water below their feet. He reached out, and took Geralt’s hand. He could feel the Witcher was tense, but relaxed slightly after Jaskier laced their fingers together.

“Finally. You made me wait long enough.” the bard smiled, nudging Geralt playfully with his shoulder. 

Geratl didn’t say anything. But he accepted Jaskier’s hand in his own. It felt good. He liked the closeness, and the privacy they had now. It was different than being in Jaskier’s room in the brothel, it felt more honest. At the same time, it felt more vulnerable.

“It’s nice in here… Novigrad can get exhausting. Popularity is really something, hm?” Jaskier spoke again.

“Yes, it’s definitely more than I’ve imagined.” Geralt hummed. “But… it was to be expected, now that I think of it. Your song… is very good. No wonder everyone loves it so much.” 

The compliment and praise made Jaskier smiled brightly. “I just made up some rhymes and music. But _you_ are a real star here, the song would not exist without you and the amazing stories you told me…” 

He sighed, stroking the back of Geralt’s hand with his thumb. 

“So… I already know you like this one song of mine… what… um, what about other songs? The ones I sang last night… did you like them too?” Jaskier asked somehow shyly. His heart skipped a beat. “I… I wrote them after you left, last year. I wrote them for you. I couldn’t… couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Jaskier…”

“Wait, Geralt… let me finish.” Jaskier took a breath. He needed to finally let this out, after all those months of silent longing. “I was wrong… the things I told you when you were in Novigrad last time. That I… that I don’t mind working for Favindel as long as he lets me sing on stage. That it’s better to have stable money and a place to sleep, rather than to be out on the road. That it’s all worth it… I was wrong.” Jaskier admitted. “I realized it after you left, and I kept thinking about all the tales you told me, and all I wished for was to be out there. With you”

“Jaskier…”

“I meant every word of this song last night. And if you think that you could also… then… then maybe…”

“Jaskier!” Geralt finally interrupted, raising his voice slightly. “We barely know each other. We’ve spent one night together. You cannot possibly _mean_ all those things.”

“Well, I do!” Jaskier retorted, face flushing hot. He didn’t expect Geralt to just dismiss him like that. He knew that this was a lot to take in, but up until now he was absolutely confident that Geralt came back to Novigrad for a reason. 

“It was _just_ one night. You’re making it more than it actually is…” Geralt stated. 

“Oh am I? Am I really?” Their conversation was escalating in a direction that Jaskier didn’t foresee. And the fact that Geralt seemed so calm, just grunting his rejection as if it meant nothing, was absolutely infuriating. “I know that Witchers aren’t used to _feeling_ , but I am! I’ve been writing and singing about all kinds of feelings my entire life, and let me tell you, I am considering myself sort of an expert. So here is my opinion, as an expert - you’re an idiot.” Jaskier snapped. “You need to stop fooling yourself, Geralt. The way you looked at me, the way you touched me, the way you kissed me… you can’t look me straight in the eye now and say it was nothing. Don’t deny it.”

“I just am. Denying it. It all seems to me like a very elaborate way to get out of _Flowers of Four Kingdoms_ , and out of Novigrad.” Geralt lost his temper, and pulled his hand out of Jaskier’s hold. He looked up at the bard, his yellow eyes flamed up. “You just want out, and back on the road. But you can’t make it on your own, so you want me as your bodyguard. You just want to tag along with me, that’s all it is.” 

Jaskier couldn’t stand to listen to this any longer. Geralt’s words were like needles piercing right through him. Such insults. To have his feelings belittled like this…

His hand raised, without him even thinking twice, and Jaskier slapped Geralt across the face so hard that it made his palm sting. 

“Bastard! How dare you?!” he tried to keep his voice strong, but it cracked, eyes swelling with tears. Jaskier angrily wiped them with the sleeve of his shirt. “I’ve spilled _my heart_ out to you, I’ve bared my soul. And _you_ have the nerve to call me a liar and play it all down to me simply wanting to use you?”

The silence that fell then was unbearable. Geralt, as usual, decided not to face his feelings, and wanted to escape from this. He stood up, boots thumping heavily against the wooden bridge as he turned to walk away. Where to? He didn’t know.

Jaskier jumped up to his feet as well. This conversation was not over.

“Have you ever even loved?” the bard asked in pained voice. “Because you sure seem as if you couldn’t recognize love even if it hit you right in that stupid head! And then...” 

Now it was Geralt who snapped. Jaskier was driving him crazy. Especially since all the things he said were true, no matter how badly Geralt didn’t want to admit it. He was being cruel on purpose, trying to push Jaskier away, because he didn’t know what love is, and didn’t even know if he was capable of it. It scared him. Just like back then, almost a year ago. Back then he ran away.

Geralt turned on his heel to face Jaskier once again. He could tell that the agitated bard was not done talking. 

He grabbed Jaskier by his shoulders, and pulled him close. Jaskier stumbled into his hold, and Geralt caught his lips in a kiss before he could say anything more. It took his breath away. This kiss, so firm yet so tender. It felt just like back then… 

Jaskier was right. The way the Witcher kissed him was telling more than any words ever could. Geralt couldn’t fool himself any longer.

When he pulled back, Jaskier’s lips were reddened and trembling. His fingers gripping tightly onto the Witcher’s shirt, he breathlessly finished his sentence: 

“...and then you just go and do something like _this_.” 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok, enough is enough, even for me :D these two need to get together finally so here we gooo! <3 SMUT TIME
> 
> (after this chapter, there will be two more - chapter 8, and chapter 9 - The Epilogue; and I plan to publish them both together in a couple days. so please stay tuned and don't miss that next time there will be TWO final chapters published :) )
> 
> drop me a comment if you liked seeing Jaskier fucked thoroughly ;) ♡

➶❀➶

_Geralt grabbed Jaskier by the shoulders, and pulled him close. Jaskier stumbled into his hold, and Geralt caught his lips in a kiss before he could say anything more. It took his breath away. This kiss, so firm yet so tender. It felt just like back then…_

_When he pulled back, Jaskier’s lips were reddened and trembling. His fingers gripping tightly onto the Witcher’s shirt, he breathlessly finished his sentence._

_“...and then you just go and do something like this.”_

➶❀➶

The kiss they shared carried all the need and longing that were half-asleep within them for this past year. But now these feelings exploded with full force. The moment they kissed again, the previous passion and chemistry between them was right there, as if they never parted. As if they simply picked up where they left off, just like that. 

The sheer force and hunger of this kiss made Jaskier shiver, even though summer around them was in its prime, humid and hot. He knew then, that despite Geralt’s hurtful words, _this_ was what was real. His actions spoke louder, they spoke the truth.

And now, Geralt was holding his hand, and leading him further into the wooded area. They walked slowly in between trees, Roach following beside them carefully as the forest got more dense. It felt comfortable. To hold hands, to feel each others’ skin, this innocent touch. To walk together, leaving the road far behind, to disappear from the world’s eyes. 

“Where are we going?” Jaskier asked quietly after a while, but Geralt didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to, because they reached their destination then. A small clearing in between trees, partially in the shade. Sunlight was sneaking through the tree crowns here and there, dancing and shimmering along with gentle breeze. The grass was almost emerald, lilies of the valley and forget-me-nots growing in bulks around the trees. 

Geralt grabbed a coat that he had stuffed in one of Roach’s saddle bags, and spread it on the grass. Jaskier raised his brow. This was getting more curious by the minute.

“Geralt, talk to me.” the bard pleaded, “When you’re all silent like that, I need to guess what you’re thinking, and I’m afraid I’m getting paranoid. First you try and deny my feelings, you’re pushing me away, and in the next moment we’re kissing. And now you dragged me all the way here, and I don’t know-”

Geralt once again silenced Jaskier with a kiss. He started to see that it was a very efficient method, and perhaps the only method, to have the bard stop talking. Geralt needed to think, and he couldn’t think when Jaskier was spilling his endless and very complicated feelings onto him. Was it really possible to feel _so much_ all at once? 

At the same time, he envied Jaskier. At least he understood those feelings, and his heart simply acted out on them. Geralt himself felt overwhelmed and confused. But he knew now that running away from it won’t make it any easier. And it definitely won’t make it disappear.

Jaskier draped his arms up around Geralt’s neck, leaning into the kiss eagerly. His taste was familiar, the warmth of his lips, his touch, the way he sighed breathlessly when Geralt would trace his tongue over his bottom lip… 

The Witcher’s hands wrapped around Jaskier’s waist, and he pulled him close against himself. It earned him a very pleased little purr that Jaskier let out when his body pressed against Geralt’s muscular torso. Great Melitele, how badly he had missed him...

As they kissed, Geralt could feel Jaskier’s heart pounding against his own chest. He pressed his tongue in between the bard’s lips, tasting him deeper. He remembered it as if it was yesterday when he last got to taste him… peaches, sweet wine, peppermint… he tasted _just right_. 

When Geralt pulled back, Jaskier kept leaning in closer, as if chasing his lips, not wanting to stop. Finally, since he was out of breath and at loss with words, Geralt had a chance to speak.

“You talk too much.” the Witcher grunted. “You overwhelm me, because I am not so good with words. You said it yourself, Witchers are not used to _feeling_.” he paused for a longer moment, collecting his thoughts, and Jaskier didn’t dare to interrupt. 

“You are… right.” Geralt continued after a while. “I cannot fool myself and pretend that this night we spent together last year was nothing. Because it clearly wasn’t. It was _something_ that has never happened to me before, so you need to forgive me if I can’t right away understand it, or say it out loud. Back then… I felt a lot too. But then we didn’t waste time on talking about it. And yet, somehow you knew, because you held onto it ever since. So even though I’m not good with words, there is a way for me to show you how I feel.” he hummed, bringing his lips closer to Jaskier’s once again, his breath becoming heavier.

Geralt waited. Waited for Jaskier to either accept him, or tell him to go where the devil says goodnight and take his idiotic excuses with him. 

And the moment Jaskier pressed their lips together again, with such desperate need and such obvious relief, Geralt asked himself why he had ever doubted. Of course he accepted him. The Witcher could tell, from the moment he heard him sing the previous evening, that Jaskier’s words were true. 

_It’s what my heart just yearns to say_

_In ways that can’t be said_

_It’s what my rotting bones will sing_

_When the rest of me is dead_

_It’s what’s engraved upon my heart_

_In letters deeply worn_

_Today I somehow understand the reason I was born_

_It’s not fair, it's not fair how much I love you..._

The kiss turned breathless, sloppy, as if they couldn’t get enough of each other. Geralt cupped Jaskier’s face with one hand, thumb pressing against his bottom lip. Jaskier obediently opened his mouth for him, legs instantly buckling in his knees. But Geralt’s strong arms were there to support him.

The Witcher started pressing kisses all over Jaskier’s face. He started softly, with little pecks to his lips, the corner of his mouth. Then he kissed his cheeks, his temples, his forehead. When he placed a playful kiss to his nose, Jaskier scrunched it up and laughed quietly. 

Kissing down his cheeks again, Geralt trailed his lips along Jaskier’s jaw, then to his neck. He pressed open-mouthed kisses down along his throat, feeling how his breath hitched. 

His hands moved over Jaskier’s body, opening the buttons of his jacket, and then sliding underneath the fabric, feeling over the bard’s slender waist, then up his sides. Geralt pushed the jacket off Jaskier’s shoulders, it fell onto the grass. 

The decorative, frilly collar of Jaskier’s shirt was a nuisance that needed to be removed, and Geralt got rid of it rather quickly. He opened the bard’s shirt, exposing his chest, and proceeded to kiss along his collarbones, and further down. Jaskier’s hand ran through Geralt’s hair, fingers threading through the white strands gently. He closed his eyes, feeling the sun on his face, and Geralt’s hot lips against his skin.

Geralt tugged at his shirt impatiently, finally pulling it off Jaskier. They had a bit of a struggle with the sleeves, because Jaskier absolutely did not want to take his hands off Geralt even for a second. Eventually though, the shirt was off, and followed the jacket’s fate, getting tossed onto the ground. 

With his lips trailing down Jaskier’s skin, Geralt sank to his knees slowly. He kissed softly over the bard’s chest, and down his stomach, and it made Jaskier dizzy. He inhaled sharply when the Witcher’s lips pressed right below his navel. He buried his fingers in Geralt’s hair, and Geralt looked up at him. 

Jaskier was stunning, his skin fair and smooth, glowing in the sun. He was beautiful, and Geralt wondered how was it possible that someone so lovely, who could have anyone, chose him. He didn’t know the answer to that, but it made his stomach flutter. 

He wanted to kiss every inch of his skin, to make sure that all of Jaskier belonged to him. He grazed his hipbone lightly with his teeth, causing goosebumps to bloom all over Jaskier’s skin. His hands moved over his waist, down along the curve of his bottom. Then, his fingers lightly traced over the edge of his breeches, and slowly started to undo the laces. 

Geralt could hear Jaskier’s soft whimpers, could feel his fingers tightening in his hair. He unfastened the laces at the front of the breeches, and tugged them down, pulling them to Jaskier’s knees, together with the undergarments he wore. Jaskier let out a content sigh as the tightness between his legs was finally freed. His excitement couldn’t be more obvious.

Geralt pressed another kiss to Jaskier’s lower stomach, his stubble tickling the sensitive skin. His lips were moving lower.

“Geralt, you don’t have to…” Jaskier tried to protest weakly. 

But to no avail. Geralt’s lips softly mouthed at the base of Jaskier’s cock, and it sent a shiver down the bard’s spine. He couldn’t remember the last time someone pleasured him like this, so gently, so patiently… his clients obviously only ever cared for their own satisfaction. But Geralt very nearly worshipped his body, made him feel worthy of tenderness and affection.

Geralt took this slow, pressing his lips almost carefully along Jaskier’s shaft. It felt nice, the skin was so delicate and velvety. He wanted to make sure that this will feel good for Jaskier, because he didn’t quite know how to do it. But, it seemed he was doing very well, even if a little clumsily, because Jaskier’s started breathing faster, letting out hushed moans as he bit down onto his lower lip. 

“Like this is good?” the Witcher asked, slightly unsure, as he pressed a careful kiss to the plump tip of Jaskier’s cock. 

Jaskier was barely able to answer, he just nodded weakly, and let out a high-pitched whimper. His hands trembled, petting Geralt’s hair. This was unbelievable… it felt so good. And Jaskier felt so special and important in that moment, Geralt was trying so hard to make this good for him. He was trying so hard to express his feelings. No other man had ever made him feel like this. 

Encouraged, Geralt wrapped his lips around the head, and gave an experimental suck. He slowly ran his tongue over the slit at the tip. The taste was bittersweet, not unpleasant. Geralt closed his eyes for a moment, as if he wanted to remember it. It made him feel warm tingling between his own legs. 

With a low hum, he took more of Jaskier into his mouth, letting his tongue slide along the underside. Jaskier shuddered, and wasn’t able to suppress a slight twitch of his hips. He looked down at Geralt, his heart racing. Great Melitele, this was such a sight… this rough man on his knees before him, pleasuring him so gently, so carefully…

Geralt patiently was getting used to the feeling, allowing the roll Jaskier’s hips to push his cock a bit further into his mouth. He swallowed, inhaling slowly through his nose. He then pulled back a little, hollowing his cheeks as he gave another suck. It earned him a loud moan from Jaskier, whose hands gently pushed Geralt’s head down again. 

And Geralt obeyed, steadying himself with his hands resting firmly against Jasker’s hips, he took more of him again. He began to establish a nice, steady rhythm, his movements less clumsy now. All he needed to do was to listen to Jaskier’s lovely reactions, and do more of what made him feel so good that he breathed out Geralt’s name so sweetly over and over.

Jaskier’s cock twitched eagerly between Geralt’s lips. It felt so good that he was getting dizzy… or maybe it was because of the heat? Even with trees around them providing pleasant shade, it was still such a hot afternoon. His skin was already slightly damp, pearls of sweat gathering in the nooks of his body, slowly trailing down the back of his neck, over his stomach, down the sharp edges of his hips. 

His legs started to give up. His whole body was trembling, knees felt weak. Jaskier put his hand against Geralt’s strong shoulder to support himself up, but he barely could. When Geralt felt it, felt him trembling, he pulled back. He licked his lips, taking a couple heavier breaths.

“Come here…” Geralt hummed, opening his arms for Jaskier to lean into.

Jaskier cupped Geralt’s face in both his hands, and sank down onto his knees as well. The Witcher wrapped his arms around him, and held him close. In his embrace, Jaskier felt secure. 

With his delicate hands, Jaskier caressed Geralt’s cheeks, feeling his short, scratchy stubble. He leaned in, and kissed the Witcher, slowly, deeply. This man who was so strong, and rough around the edges, could be so soft at the same time… When they kissed, Geralt’s lips were always soft and gentle… 

He never wanted this kiss to end. As they knelt on the grass in front of each other, holding onto each other for dear life, nothing else in the world mattered. All Jaskier cared about were Geralt’s tender lips, his strong arms around him. And to be quite honest, Geralt felt the same. Novigrad seemed like something from a distant past, but here and now was what was really important. Was it really so simple? 

Was _love_ really so easy?

Maybe if you loved the right person, it truly was.

Out of breath, Jaskier pulled back from the kiss, but just a little. He rested his forehead against Geralt’s, stroking his cheekbones slowly with his thumbs. “Geralt… I…”

“Lie down.” the Witcher interrupted, gesturing towards his coat that was spread down on the grass. 

Jaskier glanced at the coat, and nodded, moving to lie down on it. Geralt pulled off his shoes, and then helped him remove his breeches completely. As Jaskier rested back on his elbows, feeling warm sunlight against his skin, he felt a new kind of thrill. He was completely naked now, and Geralt still completely clothed. 

Geralt ran his hands up along Jaskier’s legs, spreading them apart. Jaskier held his gaze, looking at him with those icy grey eyes. Without breaking the eye-contact, Geralt pressed a kiss to his ankle, and then proceeded to kiss up his leg, slowly, all the way up to his knee. It made Jaskier laugh, and he covered his mouth with the back of hand. It almost felt wrong to disturb the peaceful atmosphere around them with a louder sound. 

“It tickles.” he complained playfully. 

Geralt smirked against his skin, trailing his kisses further up his thigh. 

He reached the spot where a bruised bite mark was staining Jaskier’s otherwise perfect body. It made both of them stop for a moment. Geralt frowned, and Jaskier felt embarrassed. 

“I hate it…” the Witcher said, “I hate it that they treat you like this.” 

He pressed his lips, very gently, to the bruise, kissing over it. Jaskier winced a little, but just because he was so embarrassed… Geralt was so gentle, it didn’t hurt at all. His warm lips traced over the bruise, kissing softly. Jaskier toes curled. 

He hated it too. Now that he experienced how it feels to be treated gently, to be pleasured and taken care of, he never wanted it any other way. He never wanted it with anyone else. 

Geralt slid his hands underneath Jaskier’s thighs, and lifted his legs, hooking his knees over his shoulders. And if he didn’t know any better, he could swear that he saw Jaskier blush. His cock was even harder now, resting against his stomach. Geralt’s lips found their way along the shaft, kissing up to the tip slowly. He took him into his mouth once again, and Jaskier’s head fell back, mouth hanging open. A moan escaped him, and this time he had no intentions of keeping quiet. 

Jaskier had his eyes closed for a moment, relishing in the feeling of Geralt’s mouth around him. He was getting better at it by the minute. Jaskier stroked his hair, arching his back more into his touch. He couldn’t be more obviously begging for more. 

With a low hum, Geralt swallowed around Jaskier’s cock. The bard’s hands, threading through his hair, lightly pushed his head down. Geralt took it as a sign that he was doing well, so he kept going in the same manner. Slowly taking more of Jaskier into his mouth, then pulling back, tracing his tongue over the tip teasingly. It wasn’t difficult to get a hang of, especially with Jaskier becoming very vocal and making it obvious when he felt good. 

Jaskier’s moans were actually starting to make it very challenging for Geralt to ignore his own arousal. He doubted if he had ever seen a more beautiful and tempting sight in his life, other than Jaskier in this moment - naked, kissed with sun, squirming on the grass. 

He pulled back slowly, and peppered Jaskier’s sensitive skin with kisses. Kissing the insides of his thighs, he could feel Jaskier shudder in delight. Cautiously, his mouth travelled further down between his legs. Jaskier tensed a little when he felt the Witcher’s tongue against his entrance, but moments after he relaxed, melting into it. Geralt’s hot breath ghosted over his skin, his lips and tongue so gentle and patient with him.

Geralt hooked Jaskier’s legs a little higher over his shoulders, making him gasp. He sucked a small, faint hickey onto the skin of Jaskier’s bottom, teasingly grazing with his teeth, and then immediately kissing over the spot. So gentle… 

Jaskier’s hands grabbed fisfuls of grass around him as he tried to somehow steady himself. His heart was beating so fast, his faced flushed, chest raising and falling heavily with each breath. He could feel Geralt’s tongue tracing over his entrance, pressing against it, his lips enveloping his sensitive flesh. It was divine. 

Perhaps Geralt wasn’t good with words, and it was difficult for him to speak about how he felt, but he could _definitely_ show it just right. Jaskier, smiling blissfully up at the sky, discovered that he didn’t mind at all. 

Suddenly, he felt the absence of Geralt’s lips, and he let out a small, displeased whine. He looked down, and was struck by an absolute _want_ that was apparent in Geralt’s expression. The Witcher sat back, and started to impatiently remove his own clothing. Biting down onto his lip, Jaskier smirked excitedly. He sat up a little, and reached to undo Geralt’s pants while he was struggling with removing his shirt. 

They touched each other hastily, pressing kisses in between, as they tried to clumsily undress Geralt. His muscular body glistened with sweat, muscles tensing underneath his scarred skin. Geralt kicked off his shoes, and they also finally managed to pull down his trousers. Jaskier eyed him hungrily. He was just as perfect as he remembered. He touched Geralt’s cock, already so hard, standing tall and proud. Jaskier traced his fingers over it, feeling how it twitched underneath his touch, feeling the familiar shape. He wanted him so badly… 

As he wrapped his hand around Geralt’s cock, squeezing it gently, he could hear how Geralt’s breath hitched. He kissed the Witcher’s slightly parted lips, stroking his cock slowly, enjoying how it felt so heavy in his hand. His stomach tingled as he remembered how it felt to have him inside…

Geralt then let out an impatient groan, catching Jaskier’s lips in a deeper kiss. Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck, and laid back down, pulling the Witcher atop himself, without breaking the kiss. The familiar weight against him, the familiar scent of Geralt’s heated skin… for this past year, Jaskier imagined this moment many times, and it turned out to be even more perfect. 

Jaskier was happy.

He wrapped his legs around Geralt’s waist, urging him closer. “Please, Geralt… I need you…” Jaskier begged, whispering softly against the Witcher’s lips. 

How could anyone say no to that?

Geralt shifted on his knees a little, pushing his hips forward slightly. The head of his cock pressed against Jaskier’s entrance, and it made the bard let out a breathy moan. He winced, closing his eyes, when the plump tip pushed into him, pressing past the resistance of tight muscles. The feeling of being stretched and filled made him hold his breath. Geralt pushed in slowly, Jaskier’s warm body accepting him with a slight quiver. 

“Are you alright?” Geralt’s low, quiet voice brought Jaskier back to reality. He exhaled slowly, and opened his eyes.

Jaskier looked up at the Witcher, smiling faintly. “Yeah, I’m fine. More than fine.” he hummed, kissing the corner of Geralt’s mouth. 

Tightening his legs around Geralt’s waist, Jaskier encouraged him to move. It still felt a little rough, but Jaskier couldn’t care less. He was done waiting. He needed Geralt so desperately… His fingers dug into the Witcher’s shoulders as he felt him pushing deeper. Distracting himself with kissing along Geralt’s jaw and down his neck, Jaskier gradually relaxed. 

Geralt let out a content moan when he settled fully inside Jaskier. It was difficult to control his heartbeat, he could feel it pulsing in his ears. He started to move, of course at first slowly, carefully. Just a gentle, rhythmic rocking of his hips. And Jaskier adored it, his back arching, mouth opening slightly, the loveliest of sounds leaving him in a breath, tickling against Geralt’s ear. 

Jaskier’s body squeezed around him eagerly, and it made him shudder. The way he felt with Jaskier… he just couldn’t compare it to anything else. When he moved inside him, the pleasure was rushing through his entire body in waves, he could feel Jaskier’s body accepting him, and reacting in tune. Jaskier would arch into his touch, craving more. He would push his hips up, wanting to feel him deeper. 

But it wasn’t just physical pleasure, Geralt just felt… at ease. As if this was where he belonged. Jaskier’s arms around him, his lips kissing him tenderly, his beautiful voice whispering sweet nothings into his ear. 

Geralt rolled his hips firmly, feeling himself sliding all the way inside Jaskier. It was almost hard to breathe, with how hot and humid the air was around them, with the scent of wildflowers heavy in the air, and with how Jaskier was literally taking his breath away. 

Jaskier let out a whimper, but reassured Geralt with a kiss, and with a gentle touch of his hand stroking along Geralt’s shoulder. This just felt too good. He wanted more. Jaskier started rocking his hips to meet Geralt’s movements, and he gradually began moving faster. Desire was building up within him, and he just wanted more of the Witcher. It never seemed enough.

They didn’t need to keep quiet, being alone in this wooded area, dense trees around them giving sense of security and privacy. Even Roach walked off a bit, finding herself a spot at the edge of the clearing where she would nibble at some taller grass. No one could interrupt them here, no one else mattered. Jaskier definitely stopped trying to silence himself, and he freely was letting Geralt know just how good he was making him feel.

Geralt has never heard his name being spoke in such sultry, needy voice. It caused goosebumps to bloom all over his skin. He picked up this pace, wanting to tear more of those lovely moans from Jaskier. Thrusting his hips, Geralt would almost knock the air out of Jaskier’s lungs. Entering him so deep, so raw, he moved inside him faster. He felt Jaskier’s nails graze down along his back. With each push it was more difficult to control himself, his knees almost threatening to give in as his legs trembled with effort. 

Jaskier loved it, being taken like this, both sweet and rough, both gentle and firm, it was absolutely perfect. Their bodies were one, moving together, with each thrust becoming more dizzy and addicted to each other. Geralt’s thrusts were leaving him asking for more, his body pulling him in, tight and warm inside. He could feel the Witcher’s cock twitch inside him as it pushed into him over and over, rolls of his hips meeting him halfway, taking more of him. 

“Geralt…” Jaskier breathed, hands clinging onto those strong shoulders, icy eyes looking up at the Witcher, hazed, hooded with curtain of dark lashes. “I love you.” he whispered, voice trailing off into a weak moan as Geralt thrust into him again. 

Geralt leaned down to kiss him, moving a bit slower again, rocking his hips gently, shallowly. It took him off guard, but in a completely different way than he expected. It just disarmed him how wonderful it felt to hear those words, and knowing they were true, _feeling_ really loved. 

He wanted to respond, but _could he_ really? Will he be able to ever match the intensity and sheer honesty of Jaskier’s love? Geralt wanted to try, but at the same time he knew Jaskier deserved more than his damaged, crude love.

“I…” he began, but Jaskier put his finger against his lips. 

“Only when you’re ready. I already know anyway.” Jaskier smiled. 

Using the moment of Geralt’s distraction, Jaskier pushed at his shoulders lightly, and shifted from the ground. He rolled them over, Geralt’s back pressing against the cool grass, and Jaskier straddled his hips. A cheeky smirk on his lips, Jaskier happily settled himself on top of the Witcher. 

He felt Geralt inside so deep now, it was hard to keep up a smug face. Very soon Jaskier caved, overwhelmed by pleasure. He let out a loud moan, hands trembling slightly as they rested against Geralt’s broad chest. Feeling that, Geralt put his own hands over Jaskier’s hips, holding onto him firmly, helping guide his movements. 

Shifting up on his legs, Jaskier moved slowly, up and down, letting Geralt’s cock slide into him nice and deep. He shuddered, rolling his hips eagerly. With Geralt’s hands on his waist, it was easier to keep up a steady rhythm, but even so his body craved more. 

“I really like when you do that…” Geralt grunted breathlessly, admiring Jaskier’s graceful body as he moved on top of him.

“When I ride you…?” Jaskier asked in a purr, arching his back and pushing his hips forward. They both moaned as Geralt’s cock sank deep inside him. 

“Yeah…” 

“Lazy Witcher…” Jaskier chuckled, leaning down and pressing a teasing kiss to Geralt’s lips. 

But Jaskier wasn’t the only one who could tease. Geralt sneaked his hand between their bodies, and wrapped it around Jaskier’s cock. The additional stimulation made Jaskier weak, small whine escaping him as Geralt began stroking him. “You’ll make me cum so soon…” the bard pouted, but it was clear he wasn’t really complaining. 

He eagerly pushed his hips up into Geralt’s hand, closing his eyes as he felt he was starting to lose himself. He kept riding the Witcher, knees scraping against the ground, but he couldn’t even feel this discomfort. There was only pleasure, so fulfilling.

Tingling in his stomach told Jaskier that he was close. His fingers dug into Geralt’s chest, breath quickening. Geralt stroked his cock, and at the same time pushed his hips up to enter him firmly, deeply. He wanted Jaskier to let go, to allow himself to be carried away, and not think about habits he got while working in the brothel. He wanted this to be all about Jaskier, focus on his pleasure, on his satisfaction.

“Geralt…” Jaskier whimpered, frowning slightly. He wanted to warn the Witcher, but Geralt was having none of that.

“It’s alright, Jaskier.” he replied, voice low and husky. “Don’t hold back…” he reassured, hand squeezing lightly around the base of Jaskier’s cock, then massaging up his shaft. 

Jaskier’s whole body tensed, strangled voice repeating Geralt’s name once again. The Witcher could feel how Jaskier’s cock throbbed in his hand. With a small, high-pitched cry, Jaskier came, releasing all over Geralt’s stomach. White ribbons of his cum dripped over Geralt’s fingers as he kept stroking him through his orgasm. Jaskier moved on his cock still, legs trembling, body tightening around him. He kept going until he felt that Geralt was close too, right on the edge, his breathing heavy and uneven.

Even though he was already becoming overly sensitive, Jaskier made sure to make Geralt feel just as good. Suddenly, Geralt’s hand on his hip tightened its grip, pulling him down onto his cock firmly. Geralt arched slightly, head falling back. Warmth spread through his lower stomach, sending tingling shivers down his spine. For a moment, Geralt’s vision turned white.

Jaskier could feel his release filling him, it send additional wave of intense pleasure through his own body. With Geralt holding him down, Jaskier still tried to lazily rock his hips, body shuddering with every movement, milking Geralt’s cock dry. 

After a longer moment, out of breath, Jaskier rested heavily against Geralt’s chest. When Geralt wrapped his arms around him, and held him close, it made Jaskier smile weakly. He pressed small kisses to the Witcher’s sweaty skin, wherever he could reach, kissing lazily over his chest, and up to his throat. 

For a moment, all they could hear were each other’s heartbeats, and shaky breaths. Once that calmed down, they became aware of their surroundings once again. Birds singing, water gently trickling in the brook in the distance, light breeze in the trees. Roach let out a soft neigh, stomping her hooves a couple times. 

And they stayed like this for what seemed like hours, eyes half-closed, resting against each other comfortably, Jaskier in Geralt’s strong embrace. It felt right. Geralt had many doubts while coming back to Novigrad, and would often ask himself why he was coming back, what he was expecting, and what he should say to Jaskier after they meet again after almost a year. He felt stupid now, it was so obvious the entire time. 

He was coming back because that was where he belonged. Here, with Jaskier in his arms.

Geralt stroked Jaskier’s back in a soothing motion, and the bard let out a content hum, looking up at him. 

“Hey…” Jaskier offered him a tired smile. “Can we stay here…? Just for tonight.” he asked.

“What do you mean?” Geralt hummed.

“I don’t work tonight, so I don’t have to go back to the city. We could just stay here… just for one night, please?” 

“Like camping?”

“Mhm…” Jaskier nodded, “I saw you have your things with you, in Roach’s bags. Can we stay? I want to stay with you…” 

Geralt kissed Jaskier’s forehead, and held him close. He smiled. “Yes. We can stay.” 

  
  


➶❀➶

After they finally managed to let go of each other, they went to wash up a little in the brook. Roach looked away, not amused with the sight of two naked butts. As the sky began to turn orange, Geralt grabbed his supplies from Roach’s saddle bags, and showed Jaskier how to efficiently start a fire. It was a very warm evening, but he figured he will use the fire to prepare some food. He had some relatively fresh meat still in his supplies, along with a few potatoes, and a bunch of fruit that he grabbed from a random orchard on his way.

Jaskier observed all of that in awe. He loved to look as Geralt worked around their little makeshift camp. He knew everything, what to use as kindling so that the fire would stay through the night, how to tell if there are any potentially dangerous animals in the area, how to roll a bunch of dry grass and make a comfy pillow out of it. Being on the road seemed even more tempting now, because Geralt made it seem far more pleasant.

As they sat together, in front of the fire, evening sky darkening above them, Jaskier decided to pick up their previous conversation. He stretched his legs, and lied down with his head against Geralt’s lap. He smiled up at the Witcher, and reached up to wipe some crumbs from the corner of his mouth. “It’s nice, to stay out here, together… right?” he asked.

“Yes, very nice.” Geralt agreed, placing a gentle hand against Jaskier’s hair. 

“It could always be like that, you know… we could just stay together.” Jaskier spoke carefully. “I could just go with you the next time you set out on a journey. Are there… really any reasons not to?”

Geralt hummed, thinking about it for a moment. “What about Favindel?”

Jaskier rolled his eyes, and sighed. “Favindel knew from day one that I want to be a poet and a minstrel, not a whore. I have put some money aside all those years I worked for him… I could just take them and leave, and he would have to deal with it.”

Geralt nodded. It made sense, he had to admit. But there were also other things that Jaskier wasn’t considering, romanticizing the whole ordeal of being a runaway out on the road. He gently stroked the bard’s hair as he spoke. “You know… being a Witcher is really dangerous. It’s not always like tonight, when we get to sleep under the stars, with our stomachs full. And it’s not always so glorious like in your ballads. There are dangers, and hardships.”

“I knew you would say that.” Jaskier mumbled, glancing up at Geralt. “As long as I am with you, I don’t care about any of that. I will stay away from monsters, so you don’t have to worry. You will be killing the beasts, and I will be making up songs about your victories, to entertain the peasants. And we will collect twice as much money. So no hardships then.” he grinned.

“I see you have the whole plan.” Geralt replied with a smile on his own. 

Jaskier sat up, and looked him in the eyes. He was serious, almost solemn, as he spoke. “Geralt, I really can’t make another year of waiting. It was breaking my heart. So… it’s one out of two. You either take me with you, or you leave me and Novigrad for good. Just please don’t keep me hanging, wondering, waiting… because it’s too much for me.”

Geralt suddenly felt embarrassed. He hated to think that Jaskier was so upset because of him. The whole time he kept running, he never stopped to think that it’s not all about him and his inability to deal with his feelings. He broke Jaskier’s heart back then.

Before Geralt could answer, Jaskier silenced him with a kiss. 

“You don’t have to give me an answer now. Just think about it. I want you to really be sure.” he whispered.

That night, they fell asleep in each other’s arms, under starry sky. Away from Novigrad, away from the brothel, away from the hurt that this past year brought upon them. Jaskier was resting against Geralt’s chest, breathing evenly. His sleep was so peaceful, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Geralt felt a pleasant warmth inside himself when he thought that it’s because Jaskier feels safe with him.

It could always be like that, from now on. They could just stay together… what were the reasons not to? 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's get to that happy ending finally, shall we? :D  
> chapter 8 + chapter 9 The Epilogue published together to wrap up this story <3
> 
> the song in this chapter is "Love Run (Intro)" by The Amazing Devil  
> (listen to it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-BOydBbdDu4)  
> ALL RIGHTS RESERVED - The Amazing Devil (https://theamazingdevil.com)

➶❀➶

Much to Jaskier’s displeasure, they returned to Novigrad the next morning. Geralt was subconsciously leading Roach in a light trot all the way back to the city, not letting her to pick up the pace. It seemed he also wasn’t looking forward to going back, and wished to spend more time with Jaskier. 

The bard was clinging onto Geralt, sitting in the saddle behind him, arms wrapped tightly around his torso. He didn’t have to hold onto him so tight, since Roach was going slowly and gently, but he simply couldn’t deal with the thought that they will have to part again. And he hated the thought that he will have to go back to the brothel and work tonight. 

“Will you come over to _Flowers_ tonight? I will be singing…” Jaskier hummed at one point, hugging Geralt from behind. Performing on stage was always the highlight of his working night, only thing that made working there somewhat bearable. 

“I will.” Geralt promised. “I have much coin from this last job… I can pay Favindel for your time so that you don’t have to… accept other clients.”

“Thank you…” Jaskier hummed, face turning slightly red. He was glad that Geralt couldn’t see his embarrassment, but he pressed his face between the Witcher’s shoulder blades anyway to hide it even more.

As they reached the city, Geralt took Jaskier back to the brothel. They had to part there, for now at least. Jaskier slid off the horse, then looked up at Geralt, and discreetly took his hand. He couldn’t even get a kiss goodbye, not here on the street. They were both now well-known and recognizable in Novigrad, so they had to be careful with affections in public. 

They shared a look, Jaskier’s eyes pleading and hopeful, and Geralt’s honest and unusally soft. Even though Jaskier told the Witcher to take his time before deciding, he really hoped that perhaps he will hear his answer as soon as tonight. He gave Geralt’s hand a squeeze, and then Geralt turned Roach around and headed back to Seven Cats Inn.

But once he got to the Inn, there was an unpleasant surprise waiting for him. It was Favindel, clearly annoyed and agitated. The moment the elf spotted Geralt, he stood up from his chair, and approached him, demanding explanations regarding Jaskier’s whereabouts. 

“Jaskier didn’t come back for the night… I suspected that he went to see you, but when I arrived here, I was informed by the innkeeper that you also were absent for the whole night.” Favindel accused. Even though his voice was calm and seemingly polite, there was a sharp edge to it. 

Geralt didn’t appreciate the elf’s tone. Nor how invasive and hostile he seemed about Jaskier’s absence. 

“What I do in my spare time is none of your business.” the Witcher growled. “As for Jaskier, it was his time off, if I’m not mistaken. He wasn’t required to work last night anyway, so why do you care?”

Favindel scrunched up his nose, his face twisting in near disgust. “Listen, Witcher. I don’t know where you two were all night long, or what you were doing…” he snarled, and it was clear that he perhaps didn’t know _where_ but very well knew _what_ , “...but know my generosity. I will consider it free of charge, _if_ you leave him alone.” 

Geralt frowned, crossing his arms over his chest in a defensive manner. “Don’t talk about him like that. He isn’t your property to sell.” 

“Oh, he isn’t?” Favindel laughed bitterly, “Because for the past couple years I’ve been selling him every damn night.” 

That comment made Geralt visibly angry, but he didn’t have a chance to respond. Favindel kept talking. Seeing that he won’t get through to Geralt anyway if he keeps being so hostile, he changed his approach. He decided to use Jaskier's feelings as bait. 

“You’re only confusing him.” the elf said firmly, “He’s been half-assing his job ever since he met you. Yeah maybe his songs got better, but he turned unnecessarily soft, and he’s not having fun with his clients anymore. He’s struggling. If your intention is to just keep leading him on, and mess with his head, then better leave him alone. You’re only making him unhappy like this.”

Sure enough, this actually got Geralt to think. He couldn’t suspect Favindel of ill intentions now, because what he just said were exactly the things that Jaskier himself told him the previous night. That he was heartbroken, confused, and struggling to entertain his clients. And it was all because of Geralt. Jaskier said so himself. _“I thought it’s worth it… but I was wrong. I realized it after you left.”_

But of course, Geralt wasn’t going to admit out loud that Favindel was even remotely right. It seemed like he could get Jaskier in trouble if he said too much. “I’m not going to discuss this with you.” he grunted. “If he’s unhappy, it’s because he wants to be an artist, not your slave. If you don’t see that, then we have nothing to talk about.” 

Favindel seemed to be waiting for Geralt to say something like this. Now he had a confirmation. “I knew it. _That’s_ what he wants from you.” the elf narrowed his eyes. “He wants a knight in a shining armour to take him away.” 

Geralt’s hands curled into fists, and he shifted on his legs. His whole body tensed. He was ready to jump into a fight if things turn sour. Favindel’s whole demeanour was unsettling and strangely threatening, even if he wasn’t challenging Geralt directly. 

But the elf, as if completely unbothered, just kept talking. His voice was like venom, it seemed steady, calm, however slowly and surely it was seeping its poison into Geralt’s mind.

“Think about it…” Favindel picked up, “...in my brothel he’s a star, he lives in luxury, makes a lot money. He can afford the type of cushy life he’s made for. You said it yourself, he’s an artist, not some kind of stray dog that will just go from village to village begging for leftovers, _like you do_.” he snarled. “Do you really want him to live such life? Not knowing if there will be a place to sleep, or a bread to eat?”

Geralt hesitated. He had the same concerns. He was afraid Jaskier will resent him when he realizes just how unwelcoming people can be, how cold some nights can be when no one will accept you under their roof. Could he really take him away from this life that he had now? Comfortable, familiar, and safe?

Favindel, as if reading his mind, kept talking. “He fell in love with you on a whim, and he will fall out of this love just as hard when he sees that your life is nothing like in those romantic ballads of his. You’re a monster. A mutant. And people will always treat you like that. In their eyes, you’re a freak of nature, they will always be scared, they will always keep you at distance. Here, Jaskier is famous and loved, with you he will be treated like an outcast. I’m sure you have much experience with that… do you really want him to feel like this as well?” 

That was enough. Geralt snapped and grabbed Favindel by the front of his shirt, pinning his back against the wall. 

“You think you can force me to back off just because you insult me? _Stop_ talking about him like he’s your property. He is not yours, nor mine. Neither of us can decide for him. And that is _clearly_ what you’re trying to do.” the Witcher growled.

“I’m not insulting you, just stating the facts. Am I wrong? Are they not pointing fingers at you wherever you go? Do they not tell their children that a scary Witcher will come and steal them if they’re naughty?” the elf didn’t lose his wits even when Geralt empowered him physically. 

“Not here.” Geralt reminded. “Here they sing about me, and applaud me, thanks to Jaskier’s song. It can be like that anywhere.”

Favindel let out a bitter chuckle. “Really? Don’t be a fool. There is just _one_ Novigrad, it’s a very cultural and educated city. A jewel of the North. But there are hundreds, thousands of random towns and villages, full of narrow-minded peasants who still believe in old legends and superstitions. What do you think is more likely to happen? They will all suddenly start to love you because Jaskier will sing them a song, or will despise _him_ as well, because he will be always tagging along with the monstrous Witcher.” 

Geralt had no answer to that. As much as he wanted to prove Favindel wrong, he couldn’t. Sure, for past couple months, the closer he travelled to Novigrad, the kinder and more generous people seemed, because Jaskier’s song reached them. But, there was also a place like Lindenvale, where he slayed the basilisk, and people there were still treating him with fear and reserve. And the world was filled with villages like that. The world was filled with resentment and prejudice. 

As much as he hated to admit it, Favindel seemed to have a point.

In this moment of Geralt’s hesitation, the elf managed to push him away. He huffed and straightened his shirt, dusting himself off. He made sure to make a show of wiping the smudges left on the fabric by Geralt’s dirty hands. 

“Think about what I said. You will be doing Jaskier a favour if you just leave him be.” Favindel concluded, pushing past Geralt and heading out of the door.

❀❀❀

That evening, Jaskier was sitting on pins and needles, waiting for the time of his performance. He couldn’t wait to see Geralt again, to sing for him again. After last night, that they spent together out in the woods, Jaskier was on cloud nine. Even though he gave Geralt a choice, he was quite confident what the Witcher’s answer will be. Maybe Geralt wasn’t able to directly speak of his feelings, but Jaskier just knew. And he was willing to give him some time to form proper words.

Completely unaware of the conversation between Geralt and Favindel earlier that day, Jaskier was in high spirits. He was in excellent mood all day long, until the moment when he walked down the stairs to give his performance for the awaiting crowd.

He scanned the faces of people in the audience, and his smile faltered. He couldn’t see Geralt. 

Jaskier suddenly felt cold. His chest tightened. Why was Geralt not here…? He promised he will come… He looked over the crowd once again, but he couldn’t find even a glimpse of the Witcher. 

Some people in the first row started whispering, noticing that Jaskier seemed distracted, so he had to quickly collect himself. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, and forced himself to smile. He lifted his lute, fingers touching the strings gently. 

One more look.

He’s not there…

Jaskier began to play, he had to. He sang, even though he wanted to scream.

_O let the earth a-tumble, love_

_And humble you withal_

_Keep running. It’s up to you now_

_Up to you now, love ..._

Did Geralt make his choice? Jaskier was so sure, but… what if he was wrong? What if Geralt chose to leave? But would he really just disappear like that? Without saying goodbye? Without gracing Jaskier with even as much courtesy as to say it to his face?

_Love run, love run_

_For all the things you wished you’d done_

_Run for all you know that’s coming_

_Run to show that love’s worth running to…_

  
  


❀❀❀

Jaskier was so distracted that Favindel had to repeat it to him for the third time.

“I said - you have a client. What’s wrong with you tonight? Snap out of it.” the elf nudged Jaskier towards the table where a customer was waiting. 

Jaskier felt light-headed and confused the whole evening. He just couldn’t believe that Geralt would pick up and leave without saying a word. But to be honest, he _did_ disappeared on him once before so…

That thought was even more heartbreaking. 

The client turned out to be quite unpleasant, he was really rough and liked to pull at his hair. Most of the time Jaskier just lay there, staring up at the ceiling, and absolutely hating the fact that there was another man on top him. It felt wrong. He didn’t seem to allow himself to realize that Geralt left.

By the time Jaskier was done with the client, he was exhausted and miserable. He needed to soak in a bath for over half an hour to feel at least a little bit better, and wash the feeling of hurt and guilt off of himself. 

He had a bad feeling about this. He was sure that Geralt wouldn’t just leave without a word, not after all that happened between them. 

Jaskier managed to convince himself that something bad must have happened.

So in the early morning hours, when all customers had already left and Favindel locked up the brothel, Jaskier waited until it got quiet. Once he was sure everyone was sleeping, he sneaked out of the building, and headed to Seven Cats Inn. If Geralt left, he needed to see it for himself.

Millions of thoughts ran through Jaskier’s head as he reached the Inn and knocked at the door. He was willing to accept any explanation, just not that Geralt left him without a goodbye. He refused to believe that, to the very last moment.

But when the sleepy Innkeeper opened the door, Jaskier had to face the reality.

“I’m looking for the Witcher. Is he still staying here?”

“The Witcher?” the Innkeeper raised his brows, yawning. “Um, no, he actually checked out and left yesterday.”

Jaskier’s heart broke in half. He just stood there and stared at the Innkeeper, as if he just told him the most unimaginable thing. 

“He… left…?” Jaskier quietly repeated, speaking more to himself rather than to Innkeeper. He just needed to say it out loud, to have it settled. 

“Yeah, he left right after his elf friend visited.” the Innkeeper mentioned, and this sentence brought Jaskier’s attention back to reality. 

“Elf friend?”

The Innkeeper nodded. “Yes, Master Witcher was absent for the night, and when he returned in the morning, there was an elf gentleman waiting for him. They talked for quite a while. Both seemed unnerved. Witcher left soon after that.”

It all suddenly became clear. Realization dawned on Jaskier, along with a wave of relief. He almost wanted to laugh. Fucking Favindel. He should have realized this sooner. 

Maybe Geralt was an idiot for listening to Favindel’s threats, but Jaskier had to admit he was an idiot too. He shouldn’t have expected that his fate will change on its own. When he started working for Favindel he told himself that it was only for a little while, only until he makes better money, gains more recognition. More than two years later, he was still doing it, still selling his body. What was he waiting for? He wrote all those songs about how love is this unstoppable force that spins your life around, and yet he was never willing to take the risk himself…

_Love run, love run_

_For all the things you wished you’d done_

_Run for all you know that’s coming_

_Run to show that love’s worth running to…_

“Are you alright?” the Innkeeper asked, seeing that Jaskier was visibly pale and shaking, completely distracted.

Jaskier looked up at him, and nodded firmly. “I’m fine. You were very helpful. Actually… I have one more favour to ask. Do you perhaps know where I could buy a horse around here?” 

❀❀❀

The more time had passed, the more anxious Jaskier was getting. The thought alone, that Geralt was already a day ahead of him on the road was making his stomach twist in knots. But, if he wanted his plan to work, he needed to be smart about it. He couldn’t act hastily or suspicious. He was ready to take his fate in his own hands. 

First, Jaskier pulled out some of his savings, that he managed to gather during all those years working for Favindel, and went to the livestock market. He found a farmer that sold him a horse, and even managed to get a somewhat proper saddle and reins. It would have to be enough for now…

He left the horse in the stables by the Tretogor Gate, to have it ready. Wandering around the city with a horse wouldn’t go unnoticed, and since basically everyone knew Jaskier here, he didn’t want a word of it to reach Favindel. 

Once this was done, Jaskier took rounds, going by the city gates. He was asking guards there if they have seen a Witcher leaving through any of the gates, so that he could more or less have a sense of direction. Finally someone confirmed to him that Geralt was seen riding his horse through the Southern Gate. That was a long shot, because there were so many places where he could headed to from there but… Jaskier wasn’t getting discouraged. He already had his mind set.

He spent the rest of the day at the brothel, discreetly packing his things. He put some clothes and necessities in a leather bag that he hid underneath his bed. He also took all of his savings, some random items from his room that had any market value, in case he needed to sell them later, and of course, his lute. 

Time was passing, and Jaskier could imagine Geralt and Roach just getting farther and farther away. He needed to be patient. But it was extremely hard.

As the evening came at least, Jaskier gave a very heartfelt performance. He sang as beautifully as he could, wanting Novigrad to remember him… until the next time. But he was sure next time won’t be anytime soon. It was his farewell, even if no one else beside him knew that. 

Favindel seemed pleased with him, praising him for the giving such an amazing show. Good. He had his guard down, he won’t be keeping too much of an eye on him. That was all Jaskier needed. 

He let Favindel fix him up with a client, acting as normal. As he took the man upstairs to his room, he offered him a glass of wine. He then pretended to trip over the long, silky robe that he was wearing, and knocked the wine glass out of the client’s hand, spilling the wine all over him. 

“I’m so sorry… how clumsy of me.” Jaskier smiled sweetly, batting his lashes. “Let me take you to the washroom, this shirt is not yet ruined. Right this way, come with me.” he led the client to the washroom down the hall, and as the man walked in there, Jaskier locked him inside. He closed the door, and pulled the chair over, blocking the handle with it. “Sorry…” he mumbled, and rushed back to his room.

As it turned out, the long robe that Jaskier wore was only a disguise. Underneath it, he was already fully dressed. He removed the silky gown, and tossed it away, quickly grabbing his bag from underneath the bed, and swinging the lute over his shoulder. It was time to go.

He quietly walked down the stairs, and peeked into the main hall. Favindel was tending to some tables at the moment, chatting with guests, and serving them more alcohol. He had his back towards the staircase. Jaskier knew there won’t be a better moment.

He quickly sneaked behind the bar, and from there, through the door to the kitchens. As he walked past there, he grabbed some food into his bag as well. Glancing over his shoulder Jaskier could see a glimpse of Favindel in the crack of the kitchen door. He was still pouring wine for the customers, unaware. 

Crisp, evening air hit his face as Jaskier opened the back door and sneaked outside into an alley. There was no time to lose. He was so close. So he ran. He ran through the streets and yards, passing the docks, lurking in between the stands of street vendors, pushing past people. 

He was out of breath as he reached the Tretogor Gate. He paid the stable boy, and grabbed his horse, climbing onto its back. He tried not to trample anyone in his way as the horse carried him towards the Southern Gate. Constantly looking over his shoulder, Jaskier was almost expecting to be caught, to be stopped.

But no one stopped him. 

He rode past the Southern Gate at full speed, and never looked back. 

_Run to show that love’s worth running to…_

➶❀➶

Even though, at the time when Jaskier left Novigrad, Geralt was barely two days ahead of him, it was actually much harder finding any trace of him than Jaskier imagined it would be. For starters, he had no idea where to go. He only figured the general direction, based on what the Novigrad gate guards had told him, but… well, when he left the city, the world that opened before him was so vast and huge. Geralt could be… anywhere.

He tried not to get discouraged, but with each passing day, it was getting more and more difficult. After a week on the road his ass hurt from the horse saddle, he was a bit hungry because he had to ration his supplies, and it seemed he was nowhere near finding even the smallest trace of Geralt.

As he rode, he would travel from town to town, from village to village, trying to figure out if anyone had seen a Witcher in the area. He would ask people if they haven’t heard about any monsters causing trouble nearby, or just strange occurrences in general. Jaskier was willing to investigate every clue. But his efforts were futile, and he started to think that maybe Geralt was already somewhere far ahead, or went in a different direction completely. 

Well, it’s not like Jaskier could turn around and go back to Novigrad now anyway, right? He ran away, stealing from Favindel, and burned his bridges. So all he could do now was to keep going.

A couple days later, he reached a village of Toderas. It was really small, but there was a tavern there, so Jaskier decided to stop there for the night. He just needed to rest for a bit and think what to do next, where to go. His initial plan was only going as far as this… and he was out of ideas now. 

When he went into the tavern, and asked for a room, he was informed that there were no vacancies. A group of travelling merchants was just passing through the village, and they booked all of the rooms. Jaskier sighed, trying to tell himself that this is just temporary, that there has to be a point in the future where he will stop bouncing off of obstacles. 

And suddenly, just like that, luck smiled upon him. 

The bartender, seeing Jaskier’s distress, offered a solution.

“Well, if it’s just for the night, you can stay in my barn. It’s dry and warm there, there are some stacks of hay that you can use as bedding.” the bartender suggested. “I had a Witcher staying there, but he went out to the swamps yesterday and haven’t yet returned. Who knows, may be already dead. If he won’t come back tonight, you can have his spot.”

Jaskier perked up. “A… a Witcher, you say?”

“Yeah, we have sort of a monster problem around here. There is something living out in the swamps… real bothersome.” the bartender confirmed. “Witcher said it’s kikimores or something. But I don’t care what they’re called, I just want them to stop stealing my chickens. So everyone in the village pitched in and we gathered enough money to hire a Witcher. As I said, he went there yesterday.” 

Jaskier smiled so wide that it brightened the room. He felt as if all of his energy and hope came rushing back. This can’t be a coincidence.

“So are you taking the spot in the barn or not?” the bartender asked, raising his brow. In his eyes, Jaskier must have behaved really strange, getting all happy and worked up over hearing that there were kikimores in the area.

Jaskier shook his head quickly. “Actually… can you tell me how to get to those swamps?” 

➶❀➶

Jaskier wondered how _anything_ , even a monster, could possibly live here. The swamp was a murky, stinky place, and he _almost_ regretted coming here. His shoes were sticking to the dense mud, mosquitos buzzing around his ears constantly, and he could barely see through the fog that floated above the surface of the moist ground. Moss-covered trees were home to all sorts of beetles and centipedes, but apart from the bugs, the swamp seemed too hostile for any other animals. It was oddly quiet, not even birds singing. 

The trees were so tall that they were blocking most of the sun. The air was heavy, filled with smell of sulfur. Jaskier wrapped his arms around himself, shuddering. He would have _never_ come here otherwise, but that was his only clue as to where Geralt could be. 

But as of now, he was already wandering around the swamp for couple of hours, and he didn’t encounter a single living thing here. Besides, of course, blood sucking mosquitos, and other gross insects. 

As he tried to hop across some stones to avoid getting his shoes wet, his foot got sucked into a muddy puddle, and as he yanked it out, his shoe stayed in the mud. 

“Fuck…” Jaskier complained, jumping on one leg, and leaning against a mossy rock as he tried to pull his shoe out. After some struggle, he finally managed to retrieve the shoe, and put it back on. And then, he heard a strange sound.

He froze, listening intently. It was sort of… clicking…? A weird, jittery, squeaky sound… What was that? Jaskier looked around, but he couldn’t see anything out of ordinary. He couldn’t pinpoint where the sound was coming from, it seemed close, but no matter where he looked, there was nothing there.

And then, the rock that he was leaning against moved.

Jaskier stumbled and fell back onto his backside, mud splashing around him. He looked up, and turned pale, as he saw that what he thought was a rock, was in fact…

 _A monster_. 

Jaskier has never seen a kikimore before, but the moment he saw this thing in front of himself, he had no doubt what it was. It was something between a spider and a crab, but the size of cow. It had many eyes, many legs, _claws_ and _fangs_. This thing was stealing chickens from the village?! Jaskier was pretty sure it could easily steal sheep at least. 

A strangled, high-pitched gasped escaped Jaskier, and he tried to scramble up to his feet, but the ground was slippery. When he finally managed to stand up, for a longer moment he and the kikimore just stared at each other. 

“How about I go… and leave you be… sorry that I mistook you for a rock…” Jaskier spoke in panicky whisper, trying not to make any sudden movements. as he slowly started walking backwards, away from the kikimore. 

And at first it seemed that the monster wasn’t interested in chasing after him, it just stood there. But Jaskier got too confident too soon. All of a sudden, kikimore let out a loud, blood-curdling screech, and charged at Jaskier at full speed.

Jaskier tried to run, but the mud was slowing him down, and he would slip constantly, so he had to grab at low tree branches to pull himself forward. Kikimore was quickly catching up to him. He could hear the clicking sound of its claws. Was this going to be his end? After all he went through, he will get killed in this dump, and devoured by this fucking mutant spider? 

He tripped, and fell into the mud again. On all fours, he tried to keep going, as far away from the kikimore as possible, but to no avail. He felt one of the monster's claws nip at the edge of his jacket, the fabric tearing as he pulled free. 

Then, another screech. So loud and high-pitched that Jaskier had to cover his ears. The kikimore _screamed_ madly, and then Jaskier felt a gush of blood splashing over him. He turned around, and saw the monster right in front of himself, pinned to the ground with a silver sword. The blade was covered in runes, so bright and shiny that it was almost glowing. Jaskier looked up, eyes wide, and he saw... Geralt.

His eyes were completely black, his skin so pale it was nearly grey, veins on his neck and forehead clearly visible underneath, livid. His clothing, hair, and face were stained with blood splatters. He looked terrifying. 

Geralt pulled his sword out of the kikimore’s body, and the monster dropped lifeless onto the ground, twitching in spasms. Jaskier swallowed thickly, letting out a cry. He was still in shock, paralyzed. Geralt slowly slid his sword into the scabbard on his back. His dark eyes were focused on Jaskier the entire time. 

“What _the fuck_ are you doing here?” the Witcher growled eventually. He reached out with his hand, and helped Jaskier up to his feet. He was still agitated from having drank a potion before. His breath was heavy, his senses sharpened. But he could already feel the potion’s effect washing off. It was a miracle he encountered Jaskier and this kikimore on time. 

As he got up from the ground, Jaskier tried to wipe some of the mud and kikimore blood off of himself, but it was useless. So he just straightened his clothing, put his hands on his hips and tilted his chin up proudly, trying to look serious. 

“I should be asking _you_ the same. You’ve got some explaining to do!” Jaskier huffed. “I gave you two choices, either take me with you, or tell me it’s over… and you just chose a hidden option number three - letting Favindel mess with your head and then running away like a coward, without even saying goodbye! I will _not_ be treated like this!” Maybe this speech would be more convincing and less hilarious if Jaskier wasn’t looking like a mess, cheeks stained with tears, and trying to pose all high and mighty while actually being covered in swamp mud. 

“How do you know I spoke with Favindel?” Geralt asked, making Jaskier even more furious.

“The innkeeper told me, but is _that_ really a priority now? It doesn’t matter! I don’t care what Favindel told you, he doesn’t own me!” Jaskier whimpered, barely able to stop himself from crying at this point. “It wasn’t his decision to make, but mine! And… I made that decision. I took my things, I took my money, I ran away. I can’t go back now.”

“Ah damn it…” Geralt grunted. “So you just came out here looking for me? You could’ve been killed!” he gestured at the dead kikimore. 

“Don’t try to blame me for this.” Jaskier retorted. He truly was hurt. Now he allowed himself to fully feel it, after all those days of being strong and taking fate into his own hands, Jaskier finally broke down. He was so hurt. To think that Geralt _once again_ just left him, that he was willing to listen to Favindel’s lies and manipulations… it made his heart ache.

“You’re right.” Geralt said suddenly. Jaskier was actually ready for another argument, but the Witcher just seemed defeated. It looked like he too, finally, allowed himself to admit what he tried to suppress for those past days. “I regretted it. The moment I passed the city gates, I regretted leaving. At first, I thought I was doing the right thing, that this life…” he looked around, the kikimore’s corpse sinking into the swamp, both of them covered in mud and blood, “...that this life is not for you. That I can’t put you in such danger, can’t turn your life upside down like this. But here you are. You left everything behind for me, and I wasn’t brave enough to even admit that I was being an idiot this whole time.”

Jaskier immediately softened. He sniffled, tears swelling in his eyes. He threw himself into Geralt’s arms, not caring that he was dirty and sticky with mud and blood. They both were anyway. “You’re _my_ idiot…” he mumbled, pressing his face into Geralt’s chest, sobbing quietly.

Geralt cupped his face, and made him look up. Jaskier’s cheeks were flushed, his chin was trembling, there was mud and dirt in his hair. He was beautiful.

He pressed their lips together in a kiss, as always firm yet tender. So familiar, by now. Jaskier wrapped his arms up around Geralt’s neck, and tilted his head slightly, kissing back deeply. 

As Geralt pulled back after a longer moment, he looked into those storm-grey eyes, and there was no doubt or hesitation in his voice as he spoke.

“I love you.”


	9. The Epilogue

Epilogue 

➶❀➶

As Jaskier opened his eyes, he saw soft sunlight shining through the gaps and holes in the barn roof. Dust was dancing in the air. A rooster crowed somewhere. Jaskier was very comfortable, laying in warm, soft hay, head resting against Geralt’s chest. 

He stretched a bit, hay rustling underneath him, then cuddled up closer. He felt Geralt’s arm around his shoulders, pulling him into an embrace. The Witcher’s chest lifted as he yawned, still half-asleep.

“You snore…” Jaskier mumbled quietly.

“Am not.” Geralt let out a soft grunt. “You’re welcome to go sleep in a chicken coop if I bother you.” he added, small smile audible in his voice.

Jaskier chuckled, arm curling around Geralt’s waist. He never wanted to let go of him. With Geralt at his side, the haystack seemed far more comfortable than any bed would be. There was no other place he would rather be. This barn with patched roof, in a small, remote village, was his favourite place on earth right now. And he was sure that it will be like that anywhere they go.

Geralt knew that. He could tell, by the way Jaskier held onto him, how he clung onto him all night long. He heard it in his heartbeat, felt it in his kisses. He just knew. And he felt stupid for ever doubting. He regretted all the time they missed, but now there was no point dwelling on it. He intended to make up for it, and never let go of Jaskier.

“If I slept in a chicken coop, I would miss _this_ …” Jaskier spoke after a moment, sliding his hand down Geralt’s stomach. His fingers tickled over the naked skin, scratching gently over the trail of hair running down below Geralt’s navel. Jaskier cupped his crotch, and smirked when he felt the Witcher’s morning arousal. 

Geralt inhaled sharply when Jaskier’s hand rubbed over his hardness. “Mnn… don’t tease…” he complained, although his body instinctively shifted, arching into the touch.

“I’m not teasing.” Jaskier reassured, fingers already working to undo the front of Geralt’s pants. 

Although Geralt was still drowsy from sleep, and very much enjoyed Jaskier touching him, he had to be a voice of reason. “Someone could literally walk in at any moment. We’re in a barn, the door doesn’t even have a lock.” the Witcher reminded in hushed voice. 

Although admittedly, he could barely hear any sounds outside, just farm animals and morning birds singing, but no sounds of people. It must have been really early, the village was probably still asleep. 

Either way, Jaskier didn’t seem to care. He already undid Geralt’s pants, and was impatiently tugging them down, past his hips. “No one will come in, just relax.” he whispered, wrapping his hand around Geralt’s already hard cock. 

Geralt closed his eyes, letting out a content hum. Obviously, he wasn’t going to refuse anyway, and with each moment as Jaskier touched him, his concerns about anyone walking in on them would lessen. It just felt too nice to worry. 

Still stroking him slowly, Jaskier scooted down, rustling through the hay. He pressed a kiss to Geralt’s hipbone, then to his stomach, and then to the tip of his cock. Geralt sighed softly.

“There it is…” Jaskier purred happily, kissing down the velvety shaft of Geralt’s cock. It twitched in his hand, and he gave it an affectionate stroke. He kissed down to the base, sneaking his tongue out and playfully licking over Geralt’s testicles. This earned him a lovely reaction as Geralt moaned breathlessly.

Jaskier then dragged his tongue up along the shaft, and wrapped his lips around the plump head. Wasting no time, he began sucking around Geralt’s cock. He would take it deeper into his mouth, letting it slide almost down his throat, before pulling back, and having his tongue slide over the slit at the tip. 

And Geralt loved it. His breath got heavy, and he rocked his hips gently, craving even more. There was a lot of longing and tension between them lately, and being able to now just take their time, celebrate their closeness… it felt wonderful. They had all the time in the world now to be together. 

Jaskier swallowed around Geralt’s cock, tearing another louder sound from him. He was quite proud of himself, that he was able to have the Witcher melt into it, lose himself. Geralt was clearly barely able to keep it together.

Geralt placed his hand gently over Jaskier’s head, petting his hair soothingly. It was partially to distract himself from the pleasure dangerously building up within him, but partially to push his head further down, because Geralt just _couldn’t get enough_.

Jaskier obeyed, taking more of him, sucking around his cock and relaxing his jaw to let it slide in deeper. He hummed contently, smirking around Geralt’s cock. When the Witcher would get so impatient, it was Jaskier’s favourite moment to tease even further. 

Geralt could feel Jaskier squirming a little, so he opened his eyes and looked down. Jaskier was clumsily trying to take off his own pants, while still having his mouth wrapped around Geralt’s cock. 

“Do we really have time for this?” Geralt questioned, but immediately realized how stupid it sounded. Of course they had. All the time in the world.

Jaskier finally freed himself of his pants, and pulled back, letting out a breath. He licked his lips, pressing one more kiss to the tip of Geralt’s cock then.

“Come on, a quick one.” he encouraged, smirking. “Who knows where we'll end up sleeping tomorrow? I will even be on top, you lazy Witcher.”

Jaskier sat back, and climbed onto Geralt’s lap, straddling his hips. He himself was already quite hard, which was not surprising. Geralt could easily get him very excited. He had small stalks of hay in his hair, and looked very cute in general, all sleepy and aroused. 

Geralt reached down and took a hold of his own cock, guiding it towards Jaskier’s entrance. And Jaskier looked very cheeky, seeing how Geralt got more and more eager. When he felt the tip pressing against his entrance, he bit down onto his lip, and exhaled slowly to relax. He shifted on his legs lowering himself down onto the Witcher’s cock.

There was some discomfort and a bit of a stinging feeling as he got stretched, but Geralt took his time. He was very patient with him, as always. Jaskier moaned softly when Geralt slowly but gradually entered him fully. The bard leaned forward, and rested his weight against Geralt’s chest, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. 

Then Geralt began rocking his hips, moving shallowly inside Jaskier. They both moaned against each other’s lips. It started slow and lazy, like they just wanted the closeness that came from it, just wanted their bodies joined so that they could be as close as possible. Somewhere deep inside, they were still afraid this will turn out to be a dream. Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier, running his hands up and down along his spine in a soothing motion. Jaskier, in turn, rolled his hips gently, giving them both just the sweet amount of pleasure to keep them both aroused.

They kissed, they held onto each other, whispered little sweet nothings only for them to hear. Jaskier’s heart was full, he couldn’t have enough of how many times he would tell Geralt he loves him. And just as many times he would hear it back. 

They pressed their foreheads together, Jaskier lifting himself up a little bit on his arms. He rocked his hips, feeling Geralt’s cock deep inside him, hard and throbbing. What was going to be a quick morning fuck, turned into this lazy, tender lovemaking. And neither of them complained.

At some point, Geralt moved his hands down Jaskier’s sides, resting them on his hips. He helped guide him to establish a nice, smooth rhythm. Jaskier arched into the touch, letting out a breathless moan. Seeing how the bard would become more and more bothered, Geralt decided that he can be one to tease too. He wrapped one of his hands around Jaskier’s cock, massaging it in those agonizingly slow, long strokes.

Jaskier let out a whimper, smiling against Geralt’s lips as he gave him another kiss. He tugged at the Witcher’s lower lip, the kiss turning very needy and passionate. It seemed they were both set on teasing each other, to see which one will give in first. 

Geralt stroked Jaskier’s cock with his hand slowly, rubbing the tip with his thumb and smearing sticky precum. Jaskier sat back, rolling his hips, and pushing up into the Witcher’s hand. He moved gracefully, lifting himself up and down on Geralt’s cock lazily.

Soon he started feeling a tingling sensation in his lower stomach, having Geralt’s cock so deep inside him, it made pleasant warmth spread through him. He could feel it twitch inside him, he could feel Geralt’s hand tremble slightly as it stroked him. To know that he was giving his Witcher such pleasure made him feel light-headed.

The morning sunlight, now turned golden as the sun was rising higher, shimmered through the boards of the barn. Their elevated breaths and soft moans, along with rhythmic rustling of the hay, seemed to be the only sounds in the peaceful, early morning hours. It overwhelmed Geralt how this simple place could turn the most perfect in his eyes, just because Jaskier was there with him. He wished to welcome every new day with Jaskier at his side.

They came almost at the same time. Jaskier’s legs tensed on both sides of Geralt’s hips, and he started to move a little faster. Shiver ran down his spine, pearls of sweat tickling his skin. Geralt’s name left his lips in a soft moan as he suddenly arched his back, spilling his release into the Witcher’s hand.

And the moment his body squeezed tight around Geralt’s cock, he came as well. With a low grunt, he pushed his hips up, and filled Jaskier with his release in sharp bursts as his cock throbbed eagerly. 

They kept moving for a longer moment after that, never able to satisfy their need for each other. Even though Jaskier’s legs trembled with effort, he kept riding Geralt through his orgasm. Their heavy breaths became ragged and desperate, and their lost themselves in a moment for a while, not caring about being quiet.

Finally, spent and tired, Jaskier fell down into Geralt’s arms, and buried his head into the crook of the Witcher’s neck. Geralt held him close, one hand wrapped around Jaskier’s waist, the other petting his hair soothingly.

They could easily fall back asleep like this. 

And they nearly did, dozing off a little, until they heard a rooster crow once again. They knew they had to get up soon. But they just wanted a few more minutes of this closeness and peace.

Jaskier slowly rolled off Geralt, and into the haystack beside him. He yawned, and propped himself up on his elbow, looking over at the Witcher. His hand traced lazily along Geralt’s chest, fingers drawing little hearts over his slightly sweaty skin.

“So… where to now?” Jaskier asked softly.

“Hmm… I don’t know. Wherever there is job.” Geralt replied in a hum. He opened one eye and looked up at Jaskier. “You know those travelling merchants that are staying in the tavern? I overheard them speaking last night. Apparently there are rumours that people are disappearing in Blackbough. Bodies being found later completely drained of blood. Sounds like a vampire.”

“Ohh… sounds like a job for a Witcher.” Jaskier perked up. “Excellent, let’s go there. I better start writing a ballad right away… now what rhymes with vampire…?”

Geralt chuckled, and leaned up to kiss Jaskier’s lips. He had a really cute pout when he was thinking about rhymes. But after a moment, Geralt turned more serious.

“Jaskier… are you sure about this. I mean, after the kikimore… aren’t you scared?” the Witcher asked. He needed to know if Jaskier didn’t change his mind after seeing first-hand how life of a Witcher really looked. 

But Jaskier seemed so sure about it, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He took Geralt’s hand and laced their fingers together. “I’m sure. No turning back now.” he replied.

“No turning back.” Geralt agreed, giving Jaskier’s hand a squeeze. 

➶❀➶

They left the village sometime later, their horses carrying them in a gentle trot along the dusty road. Geralt armed in both of his swords, and Jaskier with his lute. The sun was already high up, it seemed it was going to be another hot summer day. Insects were buzzing around them, flying over golden dandelions that grew on the both sides of the road. They headed West, for their new adventure.

As they rode slowly, Jaskier grabbed his lute and began playing lazily. Leaning back in the saddle of his horse, he touched the strings with his delicate fingers, making up melodies on the spot. 

Children from the village, once they heard Jaskier playing, started following them, running along the road behind their horses. They laughed and clapped their hands, loving Jaskier’s gentle music. 

Eventually, the children began singing. They all sang and danced in circles as Geralt and Jaskier rode away. The children waved at them, bidding them goodbye, stopping at the edge of the village. 

They kept singing.

Their voices could still be heard in the distance as the unlikely pair, the Witcher and the bard, left the village behind. 

_Toss a coin to your Witcher_

_O' Valley of Plenty_

_O' Valley of Plenty, o-oh_

_Toss a coin to your Witcher_

_A friend of humanity!_

(this time for real)

**THE END**

**(and they lived happily ever after)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here it is :D the happy ending <3
> 
> thank you so much for reading and for such nice feedback and all the comments <3 I'm happy :)  
> i loved writing this, thank you so much <3


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